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POEMS    FOR    CHILDREN 


One  Thousand  Poems 
for  Children 

A  Choice  of   the  Best  Verse  Old   and  New 


-true- 

•SYCH. 
iBRAAY 


Edited   by 

ROGER   INGPEN 


PHILADELPHIA 

GEORGE  W.  JACOBS  &   CO. 

PUBLISHERS 


V.  ^ 


Copyright,  1903,  by 

George  W.  Jacobs  &  Company 

Published  December,  1903 


^5 


rN 

yi[o 

C^ 

y. 

CONTENTS.                                      "7^- 

P^ 

^r- 

\RT 

I. 

PAGE 

Rhymes  for  Little  Ones 3 

Cradle  Songs  . 

84 

Nursery  Rhymes 

88 

Fairy  Land 

109 

Fables  and   Riddles 

119 

PART  IL 

The  Seasons 139 

Fields  and  AVoods  . 

164 

Home        .... 

187 

Insects,  Birds  and  "Beasts 

201 

Humorous  Verse 

.     237 

The  Fatherland 

259 

Ballads    .... 

.     298 

Girlhood  .... 

350 

Miscellaneous  . 

.     366 

Hymns      .... 

• 

^ 

404 

Index  of  Au thors  . 

423 

Index  of  First  Lines 

. 

.     435 

mM7C>40 


PREFATORY   NOTE. 


As  perhaps  nothing  leaves  a  more  lasting  impression  on  the 
memory  than  the  poems  one  learns  in  childhood,  it  is  important 
that  children  should  be  provided  with  poetry  that  is  both  pleasant 
to  read  and  profitable  to  remember,  and  it  is  to  meet  these  two 
needs  that  the  present  volume  has  been  prepared. 

In  compiling  the  work,  the  two  objects  which  have  prmiarily 
been  kept  in  mind  are  the  claim  of  poetry  and  the  demand  of 
the  children  ;  but,  since  the  collection  is  intended  chiefly  for  the 
pleasure  of  our  boys  and  girls,  the  demand  of  the  children  has 
been  considered  first.  For  this  reason,  most  of  the  old  favor- 
ites which,  because  of  their  very  familiarity,  deserve  a  place  in 
all  collections  of  children's  verse,  have  been  selected,  together 
with  a  generous  quantity  of  nursery  rhymes  ;  but  it  has  been 
deemed  wise  also  to  include  the  most  desirable  specimens  of 
recent  juvenile  poetry.  The  form  of  verse  that  first  appeals  to 
the  young  is  that  of  a  mere  pleasing  repetition  of  sound  and 
rhythm  without  regard  to  meaning ;  but  this  soon  gives  way  to 
the  little  story,  quite  simple  and  simply  told,  it  is  true,  but 
which  nevertheless  conveys  an  idea.  The  story  continues  to 
hold  its  place  in  the  affection  of  the  child  until  the  period  of 
youth  is  reached,  when  abstract  subjects  in  poetry  begin  to  offer 
attraction,  and  a  child  cannot  be  said  really  to  care  for  poetry  in 
the  true  sense  until  this  time  arrives. 

The  sections  into  which  the  book  are  divided  do  not  seem 
to  demand  much  explanation,  as  it  can  be  seen  at  a  glance  that 


L 


vlii  PREFATORY    NOTE. 

the  volume  embraces  poems  for  children  of  all  ages,  from  the 
very  little  tot  to  the  average  child  of  fifteen  years.  The  first 
part,  of  course,  is  intended  for  young  children  ;  the  second  part 
for  older  boys  and  girls  who  have  reached  an  age  at  which  they 
can  appreciate  such  material  as  is  included  therein.  The  sections 
entitled  "  Ballads,"  "Girlhood,"  and  "  Miscellaneous,"  contain 
most  of  the  real  poetry  in  the  volume,  the  earlier  divisions  being 
intended  to  lead  up  to  these  later  groups.  It  is  believed  that 
every  single  piece  in  the  book  has  some  special  merit,  and  that 
the  volume  will  be  of  particular  value  to  parents  and  teachers. 

The  editor  desires  to  express  his  indebtedness  to  those 
authors  and  publishers  who  have  kindly  granted  him  permission 
to  use  such  copyright  matter  as  is  contained  in  this  collection. 


One  Thousand  Poems  for  Children. 

Part  I. 


I 


■    •       •  •       t    t  L  * 


RHYMES   FOR   LITTLE   ONES. 


EARLY    RISING. 

Get  up.  little  sister  :  the  morning  is 
bright, 

And  the  birds  are  all  singing  to  wel- 
come the  light ; 

The  buds  are  all  opening :  the  dew's 
on  the  flower : 

If  you  shake  but  a  branch,  see  there 
falls  quite  a  shower. 

By   the   side   of   their   mothers,    look 

under  the  trees, 
How    the    j'oung    lambs    are    skipping 

about  as  they  please  ; 
And  by  all  those  rings  on  the  water, 

I  know. 
The  fishes  are  merrily  swimming  bclov . 

The  bee,  I  dare  say,  has  been  long  on 

the  wing 
To  get  honey  from  everj-  flower  of  the 

Spring  ; 
For  the   bee  never  idles,   but  labours 

all  day. 
And    thinks,    wise    little    insect,    work 

better  than  i)lay. 

The  lark's  singing  gaily  ;    it  loves  the 

bright  sun, 
And  rejoices  that  now  the  gay  S[)ring 

is  begun  ; 
For    Spring    is    so    cheerful,    I    think 

'twould  be  wrong 
If  we  did  not  feel  happy  to  hear  the 

lark's  song. 

Get  up  ;    for  when  all  things  are  merry 

and  glad. 
Good    children    should    never    be    lazy 

and  sad  ; 
For  God  gives  us  daylight,  dear  sister, 

that  we 
May  rejoice  like  the  lark,  and  ma^'  work 

like  the  bee. 

Lady  Flora  llaMiny-s. 


GOOD-NIGHT    AND    GOOD- 
MORNING. 

A  FAIR  little  girl  sat  luuicr  a  tree. 
Sewing  as  long  as  her  e3'es  could  see. 
Then  smoothed   her  work,  and  folded 

it  right. 
And   said,    "  Dear   w<irk,    good-night  ! 

good-night ! " 

Such  a  number  of  rooks  came  over  her 

head. 
Crying  "  Caw  !   caw  !  "  on  their  way  to 

bed; 
She  said  as  she  watched  their  curious 

flight, 
"  Little     black     things,     good-night  ! 

good-night !  " 

The  horses  neighed,  and  the  oxen 
lowed  ; 

The  sheep's  "  bleat !  bleat !  "  came 
over  the  road  ; 

All  seeming  to  say,  with  a  quiet  delight, 

"  Good  little  girl,  good-night  !  good- 
night !  " 

She  did  not  say  to  the  sun  "  Good- 
night !  " 

Though  she  saw  him  there  like  a  ball  of 
light. 

For  she  knew  he  had  God's  time  to 
keep 

All  over  the  world  and  never  could 
sleep. 

The  tall  pink  foxglove  bowed  his  head, 
The  violets  curtsied  and  went  to  bed  ; 
And  good  little  Lucy  tied  up  her  hair. 
And  said,  on  her  knees,  her  favourite 
prayer. 

And  while  on  her  pillow  she  softly  lay, 
Siie  knew  nothing  more  till  again  it  was 
day  : 


Poems  for  Children. 


And  all  things  saicT  to  the  beautiful  sun, 
"  'jrudd  inOtiiiug,  ;  gij'od-mbrning  !     our 
work  ,ic  btigufl.?','    ',  .   ,' 

Lord  Houghton. 


INFANT    JOY. 

I  HAVE  no  name, 

I  am  but  two  days  old. 

What  shall  I  call  thee  ? 

I  happy  am, 

Joy  is  my  name — 

Sweet  joy  befall  thee. 

Pretty  joy  ! 

Sweet  joy   but   two   days    old  ; 

Sweet  joy  I  call  thee. 

Thou  dost  smile, 

I  sing  the  while, 

Sweet  joy  befall  thee  ! 

William  Blake. 


Now  I  wonder  what  would  please  bar, 
Charlotte,  Julia,  or  Louisa  '.' 
Ann  and  Mary,  they're  too  common  ; 
Joan's  too  formal  for  a  woman ; 
Jane's  a  prettier  name  beside; 
But  we  had  a  Jane  that  died. 
They  would  say,  if  'twas  Rel)ecca, 
That  she  was  a  Uttle  Quakei. 
Edith's  prettj',  but  that  looks 
Better  in  old  English  books ; 
Ellen's  left  ofi  long  ago  ; 
Blanche  is  out  of  fashion  now. 
None  that  I  have  named  as  yet 
Are  so  good  as  Margaret. 
Emily  is  neat  and  fine. 
What  do  you  think  of  Oarolitie  ? 
How  I'm  puzzled  and  perplex t 
What  to  choose  or  think  of  next ! 
I  am  in  a  httle  fever 
Lest  the  name  that  I  shall  give  her 
Should  disgrace  her  or  defame  her ; 
I  will  leave  papa  to  name  her. 

Charles  and  Mary  Lavib. 


MY  LITTLE   BROTHER. 

Little  brother,  darling  boy. 
You  are  very  dear  to  me  ! 

I  am  happy — full  of  joy. 
When  your  smiling  face  I  see. 

How  I  wish  that  you  could  speak. 
And  could  know  the  words  1  say  ! 

Pretty  stories  I  would  seek 
To  amuse  you  every  day, — 

All  about  the  honey-bees. 
Flying  jiast  us  in  the  sun  ; 

Birds  that  sing  among  the  trees. 
Lambs  that  in  the  meadows  run. 

Shake  your  rattle — here  it  is — 
Listen  to  its  merry  noise ; 

And,  when  you  are  tired  of  this, 
I  will  bring  you  other  toys. 

Mary  Lundie  Duncan. 


CHOOSING  A  NAME. 
I  HAVE  got  a  new-born  sister  ; 
I  was  nigh  the  first  that  kissed  licr. 
When  the  nursing  woman  brought  her 
To  papa,  his  infant  daughter. 
How  papa's  dear  eyes  did  ghsten  ! — 
She  will  shortly  be  to  christen  ; 
And  papa  has  made  the  offer, 
I  shall  have  the  naming  of  her. 


y 


MY    LITTLE    SISTER. 
I  HAVE  a  little  sister, 

She  is  only  two  years  old  ; 
But  to  us  at  home,  who  love  her, 

She  is  worth  her  weight  in  gold. 

We  often  play  together ; 

And  I  begin  to  find. 
That  to  make  my  sister  happy, 

I  must  be  very  kind  ; 

And   always  very  gentle 

When  we  run  about  and  play. 

Nor  ever  take  her  playthings 
Or  little  toys  away. 

I  must  not  vex  or  tease  her, 

Nor  ever  angry  be 
With  the  darhng  little  sister 

That  God  has  given  me. 


NURSINO. 

O  HUSH,  my  little  baby  brother ; 

Sleep,  my  love,  upon  my  knee. 
What  though,  dear  child,  we've  lost  our 
mother ; 

That  can  never  trouble  thee. 


Rhymes  for  Little  Ones. 


You  are  but  ten  weeks  old  to-morrow  ; 

What  can  you  know  of  our  loss  ? 
The  house  is  full  enough  of  sorrow. 

Little  baby,  don't  be  cross. 

Peace,  cry  not  so,  my  dearest  love  ; 

Hush,  my  baby-bird,  lie  still. 
He's  quiet  now,  he  does  not  move. 

Fast  asleep  is  little  Will. 

My  only  solace,  only  joy. 

Since  the  sad  day  I  lust  my  mother, 
Is  nursing  her  own  Willy  boy. 

My  little  orphan  brother. 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamb. 


I  MUST  NOT   TEASE    MY 
MOTHER. 
I  MUST  not  tease  my  mother. 

For  she  is  very  kind  ; 
And  everything  she  says  to  me 

I  must  directly  mind  ; 
For  when  I  was  a  baby 

And  could  not  speak  or  walk. 
She  let  me  in  her  bosom  sleep. 

And  taught  me  how  to  talk. 

I, must  not  tease  my  mother; 

And  when  she  likes  to  read. 
Or  has  the  headache,  I  will  step 
'.    Most  silently  indeed: 
Iwftill  not  choose  a  noisy  play, 

Nor  trifling  troubles  tell. 
But  sit  down  quiet  by  her  side. 

And  try  to  make  her  well. 

I  must  not  tease  my  mother ; 

I've  heard  dear  father  say. 
When  I  was  in  my  cradle  sick 

She  nursed  me  night  and  day ; 
She  lays  me  in  my  little  bed. 

She  gives  me  clothes  and  food. 
And  I  have  nothing  else  to  pay 

But  trying  to  be  good. 

I  must  not  tease  my  mother ; 

She  loves  me  all  the  day. 
And  she  has  patience  with  my  faults. 

And  teaches  me  to  pray. 
How  much  I'll  strive  to  please  her. 

She  every  hour  shall  see  ; 
For  should  she  go  away  or  die. 

What  would  become  of  me  ? 

Mrs.  Sigourney. 


MY   MOTHEE. 
Who  fed  me  from  her  gentle  breast. 
And  hush'd  me  in  her  arms  to  rest. 
And  on  my  cheeks  sweet  kisses  prest  ? 
My  Mother. 

When  sleep  forsook  my  open  eye. 
Who  was  it  sang  sweet  hu.shaby 
And  rock'd  me  that  I  should  not  cry  ? 
My  Mother. 

Who  sat  and  watched  my  infant  head, 
When  sleeping  on  my  cradle  bed. 
And  tears  of  sweet  affection  shed  ? 
My  Mother. 

When  pain  and  sickness  made  me  cry, 
Who  gaz'd  upon  my  heavy  eye. 
And  wept,  for  fear  that  I  should  die  ? 
My  Mother. 

Who  drest  my  doll  in  clothes  so  gay. 
And  taught  me  pretty  how  to  play. 
And  minded  all  I  had  to  say  ! 
My  Mother. 

Who  ran  to  help  me  when  I  fell. 
And  would  some  pretty  story  tell. 
Or  kiss  the  place  to  make  it  well  ? 
My  Mother. 

Who  taught  my  infant  lips  to  pray. 
And  love  God's  holy  book  and  day. 
And  walk  in  wisdom's  pleasant  way  V 
My  Mother. 

And  can  I  ever  cease  to  be 
Affectionate  and  kind  to  thee. 
Who  wast  so  very  kind  to  me. 
My  Mother. 

Ah  !  no,  the  thought  I  cannot  bear. 
And  if  God  please  my  hfe  to  spare, 
I  hope  I  shall  reward  thy  care. 
My  Mother. 

When  thou  art  feeble,  old,  and  grey. 
My  healthy  arm  shall  be  thy  stay. 
And  I  will  soothe  thy  pains  away. 
My  Mother. 

And  when  I  see  thee  hang  thy  head, 
'Twill  be  my  turn  to  watch  thy  bed, 
And  tears  of  sweet  affection  shed. 
My  Mother. 


6 


Poems   for   Children. 


For  God  Who  lives  above  the  skies, 
Would  look  with  vengeance  in  His  eyes. 
If  I  should  ever  dare  despise 
My  Mother. 

Ann  Taylor. 


THE    GREAT  GRANDFATHER. 

My  father's  grandfather  hves  still. 

His  age  is  fourscore  years  and  ten ; 
He  looks  a  monument  of  time, 

The  agedest  of  aged  men. 


THE    FIRST    TOOTH. 

Sister. 

Through  the  house  what   busy  joy, 

Just  because   the  infant   boy 

Has  a  tiny  tooth  to  show. 

I  have  got  a  double  row, 

All  as  white,  and  all  as  smaU  ; 

Yet  no  one  cares  for  mine  at  all. 

He  can  say  but  half  a  word, 

Yet  that  single  sound's  preferred 

To  all  the  words  that  I  can  say 

In  the  longest  summer  day. 

He  cannot  walk ;    yet  if  he  put 

With  mimic  motion  out  his   foot 

As  if  he  thought  he  were  advancing, 

It's  prized  more  than  my  best  dancing. 


Though  years  lie  on  him  like  a  load, 
A  happier  man  you  will  not  see 

Than  he,  whenever  he  can  get 

His  great-grandchildren  on  his  knee. 

When  we  our  parents  have  displeased. 
He  stands  between  us  as  a  screen  ; 

By  him  our  good  deeds  in  the  sun. 
Our  bad  ones  in  the  shade  are  seen. 

His  love's  a  line  that's  long  drawn  out. 
Yet  lasteth  firm  unto  the  end  ; 

His  heart  is  oak,  yet  unto  us 
It  Uke  the  gentlest  reed  can  bend. 

A  fighting  soldier  he  has  been — 
Yet  by  his  manners  you  would  guess, 

That  he  his  whole  long  life  had  spent 
In  scenes  of  country  quietness. 

His  talk  is  all  of  things  long  past. 
For  modern  facts  no  pleasure  yield — 

Of  the  far-famed  year  of  forty-five. 
Of  William,  and  CuUoden's  field. 


Brother. 

Sister,  I  know  you  jesting  are  ; 

Yet  O !  of  jealousy  beware. 

If  the  smallest  seed  should  be 

In  your  mind  of  jealousy. 

It  will  spring,  and  it  will  shoot. 

Till  it  bear  the  baneful  fruit. 

I  remember  you,  my  dear. 

Young  as  is  tliis  infant  here. 

There  was  not  a  tooth  of  those 

Your  pretty  even  ivory  rows. 

But  as  anxiously  was  watched, 

Till  it  burst  its  shell  new  hatched. 

As  if  it  a  Phoenix  were. 

Or  some  other  wonder  rare. 

So  when  you  began  to  walk — 

So  when  you  began  to  talk — 

As  now,  the  same  encomiums  past. 

'Tis  not  fitting  this  should  last 

Longer  than  our  infant  days  ; 

A  child  is  fed  with  milk  and  praise. 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamb. 


The  deeds  of  this  eventful  age. 

Which    princes    from    their    thrones 
have  hurled. 

Can  no  more  interest  wake  in  him 
Than  stories  of  another  world. 

When  I  his  length  of  days  revoke. 
How  like  a  strong  tree  he  hath  stood. 

It  brings  into  my  mind  almost 

Those  patriarchs  old  before  the  flood. 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamb. 


-THE    CRUST    OF    BREAD. 

I  MUST  not  throw  upon  the  floor 
The  crust  I  cannot  eat ; 

For  many  little  hungry  ones 
Would  think  it  quite  a  treat. 

My  parents  labour  very  hard 
To  get  me  wholesome  food  ; 

Then  I  must  never  waste  a  bit 
That   would   do   others  good. 


Rhymes  for  Little   Ones. 


For  wilful  waste  makes  woeful  want, 

And  I  may  live  to  say. 
Oh  !  how  I  wish  I  had  the  bread 

That  once  I  threw  away  I 


I       I   LOVE    LITTLE    PUSSY. 

I  LOVE  little  pussy. 

Her  coat  is  so  warm, 
And  if  I  don't  hurt  her. 

She'll  do  me  no  harm. 

So  I'll  not  pull  her  tail. 
Or  drive  her  away. 

But  pussy  and  I 

Very  gently  will  play. 

She  will  sit  by  my  side. 
And  I'll  give  her  her  food. 

And  she'll  like  me  because 
I  am  gentle  and  good. 


THE  NORTH  WIND  DOTH 
BLOW. 

The  north  wind  doth  blow. 
And  we  shall  have  snow. 
And  what  will  poor  Robin  do  then  ? 
Poor  thing  ! 
He'll  sit  in  a  barn. 
And  to  keep  himself  warm. 
Will  hide  his  head  under  his  wing. 
Poor  thing  ! 


A    VISIT    TO    THE    LAMBS 

Mamma,  let's  go  and  see  the  lambs ; 

This  warm  and  sunny  day 
I  think  must  make  them  very  glad, 

And  full  of  fun  and  play. 


pretty 


Ah,  there  they  are !  You 
things. 

Now  don't  you  run  away  ; 
Tm  come  on  purpose  with  mamma. 

To  see  you  this  fine  day. 


Come  here,  my  pretty  lambkin,  come. 
And  lick  my  hand — now  do  I 

How  silly  to  be  so  afraid — 
Indeed,  I  won't  hurt  you. 

Just  put  your  hand  upon  its  back. 
Mamma — how  nice  and  warm  ; 

There,  pretty  lamb,  you  see  I  don't 
Intend  to  do  you  harm. 


What  pretty  little  heads  you've  got, 
And  such  good-natured  eyes  ; 

Ami  ruff  of  wool  all  round  your  necks. 
How  nicely  curl'd  it  lies. 


DEEDS  OF  KINDNESS. 

StippoSE  the  httle  Cowslip 

Should  hang  its  golden  cup 
And  say,  "  I'm  such  a  little  flower 

I'd  better  not  grow  up  !  " 
How  many  a  weary  traveller 

Would   miss  its   fragrant  smell. 
How  many  a  little  child  would  grieve 

To  lose  it  from  the  dell ! 

Suppose  the  glistening  Dewdrop 

Upon  the  grass  should  say, 
"  What  can  a  little  dewdrop  do  ? 

I'd  better  roll  away  !  " 
The  blade  on  which  it  rested. 

Before  the  day  was  done. 
Without  a  drop  to  moisten  it. 

Would  wither  in  the  sun. 

Suppose  the  little  Breezes, 

Upon  a  summer's  day. 
Should  think  themselves  too  small  to 
cool 

The  traveller  on  his  way : 
\Vlio  would  not  miss  the  smallest 

And  softest  ones  that  blow. 
And  think  they  made  a  great  mistake 

If  they  were  acting  so  ? 

How  many  deeds  of  kindness 

A  little  child  can  do. 
Although  it  has  but  little  strengtli 

And  little  wisdom  too  ! 
It  wants  a  loving  spirit 

Much  more  than  strength,  to  prove 
How  many  things  a  child  may  do 

For  others  by  its  love. 


THE  LITTLE  STAB. 

Twinkle,  twinkle  little  star. 
How  I  wonder  what  you  are  ; 
Up  above  the  world,  so  bright. 
Like  a  diamond  in  the  nigiit. 


8 


Poems  for  Children. 


When  the  blazing  sun  is  gone, 
When  he  nothing  shines  upon, 
Then  you  show  your  little  light. 
Twinkle,  twinkle,  all  the  night. 

Then  the  traveller  in  the  dark, 
Thanks  you  for  your  tiny  spark ; 
He  could  not  tell  which  way  to  go 
If  you  did  not  twinkle  so. 

In  the  dark  blue  sky  you  keep. 
And  often  through  my  curtains  peep ; 
For  you  never  shut  your  eye 
Till  the  sun  is  in  the  sky. 

As  your  bright  and  tiny  spark 
Lights  the  traveller  in  the  dark, 
Though  I  know  not  what  you  are. 
Twinkle,  twinkle  Uttle  star. 


THE    MOTHER'S   BETURN. 

A  MONTH,  sweet  Little-ones,  is  past 
Since  your  dear  Mother  went  away, — 

And  she  to-morrow  will  return ; 
To-morrow  is  the  happy  day. 

0  blessed  tidings  !  thought  of  joy  ! 
The  eldest  heard  with  steady  glee  ; 

Silent  he  stood  :  then  laughed  amain, — 
And  shouted,  "  Mother,  come  to  me  ! ' ' 

Louder  and  louder  did  he  shout. 
With  witless  hope  to  bring  her  near  ; 

"  Nay,  patience  !  patience,  Uttle  boy  ! 
Your  tender  mother  cannot  hear  !  " 

1  told  of  hills,  and  far-off  towns, 
And    long,    long    vales    to    travel 

through  ; 
He  listens,  puzzled,  sore  perplexed, 
But  he  submits  ;   what  can  he  do  ? 

No  strife  disturbs  his  sister's  breast ; 

She  wars  not  with  the  mystery 
Of  time  and  distance,  night  and  day  ; 

The  bonds  of  our  humanity. 

Her  joy  is  like  an  instinct,  joy 
Of  kitten,  bird,  or  summer  fly ; 

She  dances,  runs,  without  an  aim, 
She  chatters  in  her  ecstacy. 

Her  brother  now  takes  up  the  note. 
And  echoes  back  his  sister's  glee  j 

They  hug  the  infant  in  my  arms, 
As  if  to  force  his  sympathy. 


Then,  settling  into  fond  discourse. 
We  rested  in  the  garden  bower ; 

While  sweetly  shone  the  evening  suu 
In  his  departing  hour. 

We  told  o'er  all  that  we  had  done, — 
Oui  rambles  by  the  swift  brook's  side 

Far  as  the  willow-skirted  pool. 

Where  two  fair  swans  together  glide. 

We  talked  of  change,  of  winter  gone, 
Of   green   leaves   on   the   hawthorn 
spray. 

Of  birds  that  build  their  nests  and  sing. 
And  "  all  since  Mother  went  away  !  " 

To  her  these  tales  they  will  repeat, 
To  her  ovur  new-born  tribes  will  show, 

The  goslings  green,  the  ass's  colt, 
The  lambs  that  in  the  meadow  go. 

But,  see,  the  evening  star  comes  forth  ! 

To  bed  the  children  must  depart : 
A  moment's  heaviness  they  feel, 

A  sadness  at  the  heart : 

— 'Tis  gone — and  in  a  merry  fit 
They  run  upstairs  in  gamesome  race  : 

I,  too,  infected  by  their  mood, — 
I  could  have  joined  the  wanton  chase. 

Five  minutes  past — and  0,  the  change  ! 

Asleep  upon  their  beds  they  lie ; 
Their  busy  Umbs  in  perfect  rest, 

And  closed  the  sparkling  eye. 

Dorothy  Wordsworth. 


HOW    DOTH    THE    LITTLE 
BUSY    BEE. 

How  doth  the  little  busy  bee 
Improve  each  shining  hour. 

And  gather  honey  all  tlae  day 
From  every  opening  flow'r  ! 

How  skilfully  she  builds  her  cell  ! 

How  neat  she  spreads  the  wax  ! 
And  labours  hard  to  store  it  well 

With  the  sweet  food  she  makes. 

In  works  of  labour  or  of  skill, 

I  would  be  busy  too ; 
For  Satan  finds  some  mischief  still 

For  idle  hands  to  do. 


Rhymes  for  Little   Ones. 


9 


In  books,  or  work,  or  healthful  play, 
Let  my  first  years  be  past. 

That  I  may  give  for  ev'ry  day 
Some  good  a«oount  at  last. 

Isaac  Watts. 


SPEAK   GENTLY. 

Speak  gently  ! — It  is  better  far 
To  rule  by  love  than  fear — 

Speak  gently — let  not  harsh  words  mar 
The  good  we  might  do  here  ! 

Speak  gently  I — love  doth  whisper  low 
The  vows  that  true  hearts  bind  ; 

And  gently  Friendship's  accents  flow, — 
Affection's  voice  is  kind. 

Speak  gently  to  the  httle  child  i 

Its  love  be  sure  to  gain  ; 
Teach  it  in  accents  soft  and  mild, 

It  may  not  long  remain. 

Speak  gently  to  the  young,  foi-  thev 
Will   have  enough  to   boar  ; 

Pass  through  this  life  as  best  they  may, 
'Tis  full  of  anxious  care  ! 

Speak  gently  to  the  aged  one, 
Grieve  not  the  careworn  heart ; 

The  sands  of  Ufe  are  nearly  run. 
Let  such  in  peace  depart. 

Speak  gently,  kindly  to  the  poor — 
Let  no  harsh  tone  be  heard  ; 

They  have  enough  they  must  endure. 
Without  an  unkind  Avord  ! 

Speak  gently  to  the  erring— know 
They  may  have  toiled  in  vain  ; 

Perchance  mikindness  made  them  so  ; 
Oh  !  win  them  back  again  ! 


liET    DOGS   DELIGHT    TO 
BABK    AND    BITE. 

Let  dogs  delight  to  bark  and  bite, 
For  God  hath  made  them  so  ; 

Let  bears  and  Uons  growl  and  fight, 
For  'tis  their  nature  too. 

But,  childien,  you  should  never  let 
Such  angry  passions  rise ; 

Your  little  hands  were  never  made 
To  tear  each  other's  eyes. 


Let  love  through  all  your  actions  run, 
And  all  your  words  be  mild  ; 

Live  like  the  Blessed  Virgin's  Son, 
That  sweet  and  lovely  child. 

His  soul  was  gentle  as  a  lamb, 
And,  as  His  stature  grew. 

He  grew  in  favour  both  with  man. 
And  God  His  Father,  too. 

Now  Lord  of  all.  He  reigns  al)ovc. 
And  from  His  heavenly  throne 

He  sees  what  children  dwell  in  love, 
And  marks  them  for  his  own. 

Isaac  Waits. 


THE    COW. 

Thank  you,  pretty  cow,  that  made 
Pleasant  milk  to  soak  my  bread. 
Every  day,  and  every  night. 
Warm,  and  fresh,  and  sweet,  and  white. 

Do  not  chew  the  hemlock  rank. 
Growing  on  the  weedy  bank ; 
But  the  yellow  cowsUp  eat, 
That  will  make  it  very  sweet. 

Where  the  purple  violet  grows. 
Where  the  bubbling  water  flows, 
AA'here  the  grass  is  fresh  and  fine. 
Pretty  cow,  go  there  and  dine. 

Jane  Taylor. 


COME  HERE  LITTLE  ROBIN. 

Come  here,  httle  Robin,  and  don't  be 
afraid, 
I  would  not  hurt  even  a  feather ; 
Come  here,  httle  Robin,  and  pick  up 
some  bread. 
To  feed  you  this  very  cold  weather. 

I  don't  mean  to  hurt  you,  you  poor 
httle  thing. 
And  pussy-cat  is  not  behind  me  ; 
So  hop  about  pretty,  and  put  down  your 
wing. 
And  pick  up  the  crumbs,  and  don't 
mind  me ! 

Cold  Winter  is  come,  but  it  will  not  last 
long, 
And    Summer    we    soon    shall     be 
greeting  ; 


10 


Poems   for   Children. 


Then  remember,  sweet  Robin,  to  sing 
me  a  song. 
In  return  for  the  breakfast  you're 
eating  1 


STJMMEB    SONO. 

Pketty  bee,  pray  tell  me  why. 
Thus  from  flower  to  flower  ye  fly, 
Culling  sweets  the  Uve-long  day, 
Never  leaving  off  to  play  ? 

Little  child,  Til  tell  you  why 
Thus  from  flower  to  flower  I  fly ; 
Let  the  cause  thy  thoughts  engage. 
From  thy  youth,  to  riper  age. 

Summer  flowers  will  soon  be  o'er. 
Winter  comes — they  bloom  no  more  ; 
Finest  days  will  soon  be  past, 
Brightest  suns  will  set  at  last. 


But   I   hive  less   sense   than   a   poor 

creeping  ant. 
If  I  take  not  due  care  for  the  things 

I  shall  want, 
Nor  provide  against  dangers  in  time. 
When  death  or  old  age  shall  stare  in 

my  face. 
What  a  wretch  shall  I  be  at  the  end 

of  my  days. 
If  I  trifle  away  all  their  prime. 

Now,  now,  while  mv  strength  and  my 

youth  are  in  bloom. 
Let  me  think  what  will  serve  me  when 
nickness  shall  come. 
And  pray  that  my  sins  be  forgiven ; 
Let  me  read  in  good  books  and  beheve 

and  obey. 
That  when  death  turns  me  out  of  this 
cottage  of  clay, 
I  may  dwell  in  a  palace  in  heaven. 

Isaac  Watts. 


Little  child,  come,  learn  of  me, 
Let  thy  youth  thy  seed-time  be ; 
So,  when  wint'ry  age  shall  come, 
Shalt  thou  bear  thy  harvest  home. 


THE  AliTT  OB  EMMET. 

These  Emmets,  how  Uttle  they  are  in 

our  eyes ! 
We  tread  them  to  dust  and  a  troop  of 

them   dies, 
Without  our  regard  or  concern  ; 
Yet    as  wise  as  we  are,  if  we  went  to 

their  school. 
There's  many  a  sluggard,  and  many  a 

fool, 
Some  lessons  of  wisdom  might  learn. 

They    don't    wear    their    time    out    in 

sleeping  or  play. 
But  gather  up  corn  in  a  sun-shiny  day. 
And   for  winter  they   lay   up   their 

store  : 
They     manage    their    work    in    such 

regular  forms, 
One  would  think  they  foresaw  all  tlie 

frost  and  the  storms. 
And   BO   brought   their   food    within 

doors. 


PtrSST-CAT. 

Pussy-cat  lives  in  the  servants'  hall, 
She  can  set  up  her  back  and  purr : 

The  little  mice  live  in  a  crack  in  the 
wall. 
But  they  hardly  dare  venture  to  stir. 

For  whenever  they  think  of  taking  the 
air, 
Or  filling  their  little  maws. 
The  pussy-cat  says,  "  Come  out  if  you 
dare ; 
I  will  catch  you  all  with  my  claws." 

Scrabble,  scrabble,  scrabble  !  went  all 
the  little  mice. 
For  they  smelt  the  Cheshire  cheese  ; 
The  pussy-cat  said,   "  It  smells   very 
nice, 
Now  do  come  out  if  you  please." 

"  Squeak ! "     said     the    little     mouse. 
"  Squeak,  squeak,  squeak !  " 
Said  all  the  young  ones  too, 
"  We  never  creep  out  when  cats  are 
about. 
Because  we're  afraid  of  you." 

80  the  cunning  old  cat  lay  down  on  a 
mat. 
By  the  fire  in  the  servants'  hall  • 


Rhymes  for   Little   Ones. 


11 


"  If  the  little  mice  peep  they'll  think 
I'm  asleep  "  ; 
So  she  rolled  herself  up  like  a  ball. 

"  Sciueak  !  "  said  the  little  mouse,  we'll 
creep  out 

And  eat  some  Cheshire  cheese  ; 
That  silly  old  cat  is  asleep  on  the  mat, 

And  we  may  sup  at  our  ease." 

Nibble,   nibble,   nibble  !    went   all   the 
little  mice. 
And  they  licked  their  little  paws  ; 
Then  the  cunning  old  cat  sprang  Tip 
from  the  mat. 
And  caught  them  all  with  her  claws. 

Mrs.  Hawkshatve. 


THE  LAMB. 

Comb  pretty  lamb,  do  stay  with  me, 

You  look  so  very  mild  ; 
I'll  love  you  very  much — now  see ! 

He's  scampered  off  quite  wild. 

And  do  you  think  I'd  hurt  you,  dear  ? 

You  run  away  so  quick ; 
I  only  want  to  feed  5'ou  here. 

And  nurse  you  when  you're  sick. 

I  must  not  fret  that  you  will  go. 

And  run  away  fiom  me  ; 
I  love  my  own  mamma,  I  know. 

And  you  love  yours,  I  see. 

Then  keep  in  sight,  do,  pretty  lamb. 
And  crop  the  meadows  gay. 

Or  gambol  near  your  sober  dam. 
That  I  may  see  you  play. 


THE  FLOWERS. 

Pretty  flowers,  tell  me  why 
All  your  leaves  do  open  wide. 

Every  morning,  when  on  high 
The  noble  sun  begins  to  ride  ? 

This  is  why,  my  lady  fair. 

If  you  would  the  reason  know  ; 

For  betimes  the  pleasant  air 
Very  cheerfully  doea  blow; 


And  the  birds  on  every  tree 
Sing  a  very  merry  tune. 

And  the  little  honey  bee 

Comes  to  suck  my  sugar  soon. 

This  is  all  the  reason  why 
I  my  little  leaves  undo  ; 

Lady,  lady,  wake  and  try 
If  I  have  not  told  you  true. 


THE   VIOLET. 

Down  in  a  green  and  shady  bed, 

A  modest  violet  grew, 
Its  stalk  was  bent,  it  hung  its  head. 

As  if  to  hide  from  view. 

And  yet  it  was  a  lovely  flower, 
No  colours  bright  and  fair ; 

It  might  have  graced  a  rosy  bower. 
Instead  of  hiding  there. 

Yet  there  it  was  content  to  bloom. 

In  modest  tints  arrayed  ; 
And  there  diffused  its  sweet  perfume. 

Within  the  silent  shade. 

Then  let  me  to  the  valley  go. 
This  pretty  flower  to  see ; 

That  I  may  also  learn  to  grow 
In  sweet  humility. 

Jane  Taylor 


L^ 


E   BOBIN   BEDBREASTS. 


Two  Robin  Redbreasts  built  their  nest 

Within  a  hollow  tree  ; 
The  hen  sat  quietly  at  home. 

The  cock  sang  merrily  ; 
And  all  the  little  young  ones  said, 

"  Wee,  wee,  wee,  wee,  wee,  wee  !  " 

One  day  (the  sun  was  warm  and  bright. 

And  shining  in  the  sky). 
Cock  Robin  said,  "  My  Uttle  dears, 

'Tis  time  you  learn  to  fly  ;  " 
And  all  the  httle  young  ones  said, 

"  I'U  try,  m  try,  TU  try  1 " 

I  know  a  child,  and  who  she  is 

I'll  tell  you  by-and-bye. 
When   mamma   says,    "  Do   this,"    or 
"  That," 


12 


Poems  for  Children. 


She  says,  "  What  for  ? "  and  "  Why  ? ' 
She'd  be  a  better  child  by  far 
If  she  would  say,  "  I'll  try." 

Mrs.  Hawkihawe. 


CRUMBS  TO   THE  BIRDS. 

A  BIRD  appears  a  thoughtless  thing, 
He's  ever  living  on  the  wing. 
And  keeps  up  such  a  carolhng, 
That  little  eke  to  do  but  sing 

A  man  would  guess  had  he. 

No  doubt  he  has  his  Httle  cares. 
And  very  hard  he  often  fares, 
The  which  so  patiently  he  bears. 
That  listening  to  those  cheerful  airs, 
Who  knows  but  he  may  be 

In  want  of  his  next  meal  of  seeds  ? 
I  think  for  tJiat  his  sweet  song  pleads. 
If  so,  his  pretty  art  succeeds, 
I'll  scatter  there  among  the  -\\eeds 
All  the  small  crumbs  I  have. 


Charles  and  Mary  Lamb. 


THE     SHEEP. 

Lazy  sheep,  pray  tell  me  why 
In  the  grassy  fields  you  'ie, 
Eating  grass  and  daisies  white, 
From  the  morning  till  the  night  ? 
Every  thing  can  something  do. 
But  what  kind  of  use  are  you  T 

Nay,  my  Uttle  master,  nay. 
Do  not  serve  me  so,  I  pray  ; 
Don't  you  see  the  wool  that  grows 
On  my  back  to  make  you  clothes  ? 
Cold,  and  very  cold  you'd  get. 
If  I  did  not  give  you  it. 

Sure  it  seems  a  pleasant  thing 
To  nip  the  daisies  in  the  spring, 
But  many  chilly  nights  I  pass 
On  the  cold  and  dewy  grass. 
Or  pick  a  scanty  dinner  where 
All  the  common's  brown  and  bare. 

Then  the  farmer  comes  at  last. 
When  the  merry  spring  is  past. 
And  cuts  my  woolly  coat  away 
To  warm  you  in  the  winter's  day ; 
Little  master,  this  is  why 
In  the  grassy  fields  I  lie. 

Ann  Taylor. 


THE  BIRD'S  NEST. 
Eliza  and  Anne  were  extremely  dis- 
tress'd 
To  see  an  old  bird  fly  away  from  her 
nest. 
And    leave    her    poor    young    ones 
alone ; 
The  pitiful  chirping  they  heard  from 

the  tree 
Made  them  tliink  it  as  cruel  as  cruel 
could  be, 
Not    knowing    for    what    she    had 
flown. 

But,   when  with  a  worm  in   her   bill 

she  return'd, 
They     smil'd    on    each     other,    soon 

having  discern'd 
She  had  not  forsaken  her  brood  ! 
But  like  their  dear  mother  was  careful 

and  kind, 
Still  thinking  of  them,  though  she  left 

them  behind 
To  seek  for  them  suitable  food. 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  Turner. 


THE   PET   LAMB. 

The   dew   was   falling  fast,   the   stars 

began  to  bUnk ; 
I    heard   a   voice ;     it   said,    "  Drink, 

pretty  creature,  drink  !  " 
And,  looking  o'er  the  hedge,  before  me 

I  espied 
A  snow-white  mountain-lamb,  with  a 

Maiden  at  its  side. 

Nor   sheep   nor   kine   were  near ;    the 

lamb  was  all  alone. 
And  by  a  slender  cord  was  tethered  to 

a  stone ; 
With  one  knee  on  the  grass  did  the 

httle  Maiden  kneel, 
While  to  that  mountain-lamb  she  gave 

its  evening  meal. 

The  lamb,  while  from  her  hand  he  thus 

his  supper  took. 
Seemed  to  feast  with  head  and  ears ; 

and  his  tail  with  uleasure  shook. 


Rhymes  for  Little  Ones. 


13 


"  Drink,   pretty  creature,   drink,"   she 

said  in  such  a  tone 
That  I  almost  received  her  heart  into 

my  own. 

'Twa,s    little    Barbara    Lewthwaite,    a 

child  of  beauty  rare  ! 
I  watched  them  with  delight,  they  were 

a  lovely  pair. 
Now  with  her  empty  can  the  maiden 
1  turned  away : 

^     But  ere  ten  yards  were  gone  her  foot- 
steps did  she  stay. 

Right  towards  the  lamb  she  looked : 
and  from  a  shady  place 

I  unobserved  could  see  the  workings 
of  her  face ; 

If  Nature  to  her  tongue  could  mea- 
sured numbers  bring. 

Thus,  thought  I,  to  her  lamb  the  httle 
Maid  might  sing : 

"  What  ails  thee,  young  One,  what  ? 

Why  pull  so  at  thy  cord  ? 
Is  it  not  well  with  thee  ?  well  both  for 

bed  and  board  ? 
Thy  plot  of  grass  is  soft,  and  green  as 

grass  can  be : 
Rest,    little   young   One,    rest ;     what 

is't  that  aileth  thee  ? 

"  What  is  it  thou  wouldst  seek  ?   What 

is  wanting  to  thy  heart  ? 
Thy  limbs,  are  they  not  strong  ?    And 

beautiful  thou  art : 
This  grass  is  tender  grass  :  these  flowers 

they  have  no  peers : 
And  that  green  com  is  all  day  rustling 

in  thy  ears  1 

"  If  the  sun  be  shining  hot,   do  but 

stretch  thy  woollen  chain. 
This  beech  is  standing  by,  its  covert 

thou  canst  gain ; 
For   rain   and    mountain-storms !    the 

Uke  thou  needst  not  fear. 
The  rain   and  storm  are  things   that 

scarcely  can  come  here. 

"  Rest,  little  One,  rest ;  thou  hast  for- 
got the  day 

When  my  father  found  thee  first,  in 
places  far  away : 

Many  flocks  were  on  the  hills,  but  thou 
wert  owned  by  none. 

And  thy  mother  from  thy  side  for 
evermore  was  gone. 


"  He  took  thee  in  his  arms,  and  in  pity 

brought  thee  home ; 
A  blessed  day  for  thee  I     Then  whither 

wouldst  thou  roam  ? 
A  faithful  nurse  thou  hast :  the  dam 

that  did  thee  yean 
Upon    the    mountain-tops    no    kinder 

could  have  been. 

"  Thou  know'st  that  thrice  a  day  I  have 

brought  thee  in  this  can 
Fresh  water  from  the  brook,  as  clear 

as  ever  ran  ; 
And  twice  in  the  day,  when  the  ground 

is  wet  with  dew, 
I  bring  thee  draughts  of  milk — warm 

milk  it  is  and  new. 

"  Thy  limbs  will  shortly  be  twice  as 

stout  as  they  are  now. 
Then  Til  yoke  thee  to  my  cart  Uke  a 

pony  in  the  plough ; 
My  playmate  shalt  thou  be  ;  and  when 

the  wind  is  cold. 
Our  hearth  shall  be  thy  bed,  our  house 

shall  be  thy  fold. 

"  It    will    not,    will    not    rest !     Poor 

creature,  can  it  be 
That  'tis  thy  mother's  heart  which  is 

working  so  in  thee  ? 
Things  that  I  know  not  of  belike  to 

thee  are  dear. 
And  dreams  of  things  which  thou  canst 

neither  see  nor  hear. 

"  Alas  !  the  mountain-tops  that  look 
so  green  and  fair  ! 

I've  heard  of  fearful  winds  and  dark- 
ness that  come  there ; 

The  little  brooks  that  seem  all  pastime 
and  all  play. 

When  they  are  angry,  roar  like  lions  for 
their  prey. 

"  Here  thou  needst  not  dread  the  raven 
in  the  sky ; 

Night  and  day  thou  art  safe, — our  cot- 
tage is  hard  by 

Why  bleat  so  after  me  ?  why  pull  so 
at  thy  chain  ? 

Sleep — and  at  break  of  day  I  will  come 
to  thee  again  !  " 

As  homeward  through  the  lane  I  went 

with  lazy  feet. 
This  song  to  myself  did  I  ofteatimes 

repeat ; 


14 


Poems  for  Children. 


And  it  seemed,  as  I  retraced  the  ballad 

line  by  line. 
That  but  half  of  it  was  hers,  and  one 

half  of  it  was  mine. 

Again,   and   once  again,   did  I  repeat 

the  song, 
"  Nay,"   said   I,    "  more   than  half  to 

the  damsel  must  belong, 
l<'or  she  looked  with  such  a  look,  and 

she  spoke  with  such  a  tone. 
That  I  almost  received  her  heart  into 

my  own." 

Williain  Wordsworth. 


THE    TITBTIiE  DOVE'S   TTEST. 

Very  high  in  the  pine-tree, 

The  little  turtle-dove 
Made  a  pretty  little  nursery. 

To  please  her  httle  love 
She  was  gentle,  she  was  soft. 

And  her  large  dark  eye 
Often  turned  to  her  mate 

Who  was  pitting  close  by. 

"  Coo,"  said  the  turtle  dove ; 

*'  Coo,"  said  she  ; 
"  Oh,  I  love  thee,"  said  the  turtle  dove  ; 

"  And  I  love  thee." 
In  the  long  shady  branches 

Of  the  dark  pine  tree, 
How  happy  were  the  doves 

In  their  little  nursery  1 

The  young  turtle  doves 

Never  quarrelled  in  the  nest ; 
For  they  dearly  loved  each  other. 

Though  they  loved  their  mother  best 
"  Coo,"  said  the  little  doves, 

"  Coo,"  said  she  ; 
And  they  played  together  kindly 

In  the  dark  pine  tree. 

Is  this  nursery  of  yours. 

Little  sister,  little  brother. 
Like   the   turtle-dove's   nest — 

Do  you  love  one  another  ? 
Are  you  kind,  are  you  gentle. 

As  children  ought  to  be  ? 
Then  the  happiest  of  nests 

Is  your  own  nursery. 

Mrs.  Hawkshawe, 


THE  WAVES  ON  THE  SEA- 
SHOBE. 

Roll  on,  roll  on,  you  restless  waves. 
That  toss  about  and  roar  . 

But  why  do  j'ou  all  run  back  again 
When  you  have  reached   the  shore  ? 

Roll  on,  roll  on,  you  noisy  waves. 
Roll  higher  up  the  strand  ; 

How  is  it  that  you  cannot  pass 
That  hne  of  yellow  sand  ? 

Make  haste,  or  else  the  tide  will  turn  ; 

Make  haste,  you  noisy  sea ; 
Roll  quite  across  the  bank,  and  then 

Far  on  across  the  lea. 

"  We  must  not  dare,"  the  waves  reply  : 
"  That  line  of  yellow  sand 

Is  laid  along  the  shore  to  bond 
The  waters  from  the  land  ; 

"  And  all  should  keep  to  time  and  place. 
And  all  should  keep  to  rule  ; 

Both  waves  upon  the  sandy  shore. 
And  little  boys  at  school." 

Mrs.  Hawkshawe. 


TO   A   MONKEY.* 

0  LIVELY,  0  most  charming  pug. 
Thy  graceful  air,  and  heavenly  mug  ! 
The  beauties  of  his  mind  do  shine. 
And  every  bit  is  shaped  and  fine. 
Your  teeth  are  whiter  than  the  snow. 
You're   a  great  buck,  you're  a  great 

beau  ; 
Your  eyes  are  of  so  nice  a  shape. 
More  hke  a  Christian's  than  an  ape ; 
Your  cheek  is  like  the  rose's  blume. 
Your  hair  is  hke  the  raven's  plume  ; 
His  nose's  cast  is  of  the  Roman, 
He  is  a  very  pretty  woman. 

1  could  not  get  a  rh3'me  for  Roman, 
So  was  obliged  to  call  him  woman. 

Marjorie  Fleming. 


*  The   little  iiuthor  of    this  poem   cjied   at 
the  age  of  eight  years. 


Rhymes  for  Little   Ones. 


15 


THE  NEST. 

Arthur,  to  Robert,  made  a  sign 
Tliat  (^heck'd  his  merry  tongue  ; 

And    whispered,    "  See,    what   luck   ia 
mine, 
A  blackbird  and  its  young. 

"  Look  through  the  bush  ;    see,  there's 
the  nest. 

The  mother,  brood,  and  all ; 
You  shall  have  her — I'll  take  the  rest. 

But,  hold  me,  lest  I  fall." 

"  Stay,  Arthur,  for  a   moment,  stay, 
And  think  upon  the  deed  ; 

When  you  were  young  and  helpless,  say, 
Did  you  a  mother  need  ? 

"  If  so,  you  soon  may  imderstand 
How  these  poor  birds  will  fare  ; 

That  you  may  gain  your  cruel  end. 
They  lose  a  mother's  care." 

Mary  EllioH. 


_-^WHAT   IS   VEAL? 

When    William   asked,  how   veal    was 
made. 

His  little  sister  smil'd  ; 
"  It  grew  in  foreign  climes,"  she  said. 

And  call'd  him  "  silly  child." 

Eliza,  laughing  at  thcni   both. 
Told,  to  their  g?eat  surprise. 

The  meat  just  cook'd  to  make  them 
broth. 
Once  liv'd — had  nose  and  eyes  ; 

Nay,  more,  had  legs,  and  walk'd  about ; 

William  in  wonder  stood  ; 
He  could  not  make  the  riddle  out, 

But  begged  his  sister  would. 

Well,  brother,  I  have  had  my  laugh. 
And  you  shall  have  yours  now  ; 

Veal,  when  aUve,  was  called  a  calf ; 
It's  mother  was  a  cow. 

Mary  Elliott 


BIRDIE. 

Bfrdie,  birdie,  quickly  come  ! 
Come  and  take  this  little  crumb  ; 
Go  and  fetch  your  httle  brother. 
And  be  kind  to  one  another 

Birdie,  sing  a  song  to  me, 
I  will  very  quiet  be  ; 
Yes,  my  birdie— yes,  I  will 
Be  so  quiet,  and  so  still. 

Oh  !  so  still,  you  shall  not  hear  me ; 
Fear  not,  birdie,  to  come  near  me  ; 
Tell  me,  in  your  pleasant  song, 
What  you're  doing  all  day  long. 

How  you  pass  the  rainy  days — 
Tell  me  all  about  your  plays. 
Have  you  lessons,  birdie  ?  tell — 
Did  you  learn  to  read  and  spell  ? 

Or  just  fly  from  tree  to  tree, 
Where  you  will,  at  liberty — 
Far  up  in  the  clear  blue  sky 
Very  tar,  and  very  high  ? 

,0r  in  pleasant  summer  hours, 
Do  you  i)lay  with  pretty  flowers  ? 
Birdie,  is  this  all  you  do  ? 
Then  I  wish  that  I  were  you. 

Eliza  Lee  Fdlen. 


THE  POPPY. 

High  on  a  bright  and  sunny  bed 

A  scarlet  poppy  grew  ; 
And  up  it  held  its  staring  head. 

And  thrust  it  full  in  view. 

Yet  no  attention  did  it  win. 
By  all  these  efforts  made. 

And  less  unwelcome  had  it  been 
In  some  retired  shade. 

For  though  within  its  scarlet  breast. 

No  sweet  perfume  was  foimd. 
It  seemed  to  think  itself  the  best 
Of  all  the  flowers  around. 

From  this  I  may  a  hint  obtain. 
And  take  great  care  indeed. 

Lest  I  appear  as  pert  and  vain 
As  does  this  gaudy  weed. 

Jane  Taylor. 


THE    YOUNG    LINNETS. 

Did  you  ever  see  the  nest 
Of  chaffinch  or  of  linnet. 

When  the  little  downy  birds 
Are  lying  snugly  in  it  ? 


16 


Poems  for  Children. 


Gaping  wide  their  yellow  mouths 
For  something  nice  to  eat  ? 

Caterpillar,  worm,  or  grub. 
They  reckon  dainty  meat. 

When  the  mother  bird  returns. 
And  finds  them  still  and  good. 

She  will  give  them  each  by  turns 
A  projier  share  of  food. 

She  has  hopped  from  spray  to  spray, 
And  peeped  with  knowing  eye 

Into  all  the  folded  leaves 
Where  caterpillars  he. 

She  has  searched  among  the  grass, 
And  flown  from  tree  to  tree, 

Catching  gnats,  and  flies,  to  feed 
Her  littie  family. 

I  have  seen  the  Unnets  chirp. 
And  shake  their  downy  wings  ; 

They  are  pleased  to  see  her  come, 
And  pleased  with  what  she  brings. 

But  I  never  saw  them  look 

Impatient  for  their  food. 
Somebody,   at  dinner  time. 

Is  seldom  quite  so  good. 

Mrs.  Hawkshawe. 


COMMON  THINGS. 

The  sun  is  a  glorious  thing. 

That  comes  ahke  to  all. 
Lighting  the  peasant's  lowly  cot, 

The  noble's  painted  hall. 

The  moonlight  is  a  gentle  thing. 
It  through  the  window  gleams 

Upon  the  snowy  pillow  where 
The  happy  infant  dreams. 

It  shines  upon  the  fisher's  boat. 

Out  on  the  lovely  sea ; 
Or  where  the  little  lambkins  lie. 

Beneath  the  old  oak  tree. 

The  dew-drops  on  the  summer  morn. 

Sparkle  upon  the  grass  ; 
The  village  children  brush  them  oft', 

That  through  the  meadows  pass. 


There  are  no  gema  in  monarch's  crowns 

More  beautiful  than  they  ; 
And  yet  we  scarcely  notice  them. 
But  tread  them  off  in  play. 

Poor  Robin  on  the  pear-tree  sings, 

Beside  the  cottage  door ; 
The  heath-fl  Aver  fills  the  air  with  sweets 

Upon  the  pathless  moor. 

There  are  as  many  lovely  things. 

As  many  pleasant  tones. 
For  those  who  sit  by  cottage-hearths 

As  those  who  sit  on  thrones  ! 

Mrs.  Hawkshawe. 


THE   GUiOW-WOBMS. 

The  Glow-worm  with  his  homy  wings 

Can  fly  about  at  will ; 
And  now  he  settles  on  the  heath, 

And  now  upon  the  hill. 

The  while  his  graceful  little  wife 
And  daught  rs  stay  at  home  ; 

From  sheltered  nooks  and  quiet  shades 
They  could  not  wish  to  roam. 

The  little  lady  Glow-worms  seems 

Most  gentle  little  things, 
And  quite  unlike  their  brothers  bold, 

For  none  of  them  have  wings. 

But  each  within  her  bosom  bears 

A  tiny  lamp  that  glows 
With  light  as  tender  as  the  love 

The  purest  spirit  knows. 

They  would  not  fly  away  from  home. 
Nor  leave  it,  if  they  could  ; 

For  happy  a:e  the  homes  where  all 
Are  loving,  kind,  and  good. 

But  he,  the  little  gentleman. 
With  shining  horny  wings. 

On  duty  or  on  pleasure  bent, 
Forsook  the  little  things. 

"  He  must  be  weary  now,  or  worn," 
The  lady  Glow-worm  said  ; 

"  And  soon  he  will  return  again, 
To  rest  his  weary  head. 


Rhymes  for  Little   Ones. 


17 


"  And  we  must  kindle  up  the  glow. 

Like  emeralds  at  night. 
And  try  to  beautify  his  home 

With  cheerfulness  and  Ught." 

Mrs.  Hawkshaue. 


THE   GBEAT  BBOWM"  OWIj. 

The  bruwu  Owl  sits  in  the  ivy  bush. 
And  she  looketh  wondrous  wise. 

With  a  horny  beak  beneath  her  cowl. 
And  a  pair  of  large  round  eyes. 

She  sat  all  day  on  the  self-same  spray. 

From  sunrise  till  sunset ; 
And  the  dim,  grey  light  it  was  all  too 
bright 

For  the  owl  to  see  in  yet. 

"  Jermy- Owlet,   Jenny-Owlet,"   said   a 
merry  little  bird, 
"  They  say  you're  wondrous  wise  ; 
But  I   don't   think   you   see,    though 
you're  looking  at  ME 
With  your  large,  roimd,  shining  eyes." 

Eut  night   came  soon,   and   the   pale 
white  moon 
Rolled  high  up  in  the  skies ; 
And  the  great  brown  Owl  flew  away  in 
her  cowl, 
With  her  round,  large,  shining  eyes. 

Mrs.  Eawkshawe. 


OH!   LOOK  AT  THE    MOON. 

Oh  !  look  at  the  moon. 
She  is  shining  up  there  ; 

Oh  !  mother,  she  looks 
Like  a  lamp  in  the  air. 

Last  week  she  was  smaller. 
And  shaped  hke  a  bow  ; 

But  now  she's  grown  bigger. 
And  round  as  an  0. 

Pretty  moon,  pretty  moon, 
How  you  shine  on  the  door. 

And  make  it  all  bright 
On  my  nursery  floor  I 


You  shine  on  my  playthings. 
And  show  me  their  place. 

And  I  loved  to  look  up 
At  your  pretty  bright  face. 

And  there  is  a  star 

Close  by  you,  and  may  be 
That  small,  twinkhng  star 

is  yiiur  little  baby. 

Eliza  Lee  Fotlen. 


DAME  DUCK'S  FIRST  LEC- 
TITBE   ON  EDUCATION. 

Old  Mother  Duck  has  liatched  a  brood 
Of  ducklings,  small  and  callow ; 

Their  little  wings  are  short ;  their  down 
Is  mottled  grey  and  yellow. 

There  la  a  quiet  httle  stream. 

That  runs  into  the  moat. 
Where  tall  green  sedges  spread  their 
leaves. 

And  water  lilies  float. 

Close  by  the  margin  of  the  brook 
The  old  duck  made  her  nest, 

Of   straw,    and   leaves,    and    withered 
grass. 
And  down  from  her  own  breast. 

And  there  she  sat  for  four  long  weeks, 

In  rainy  days  and  fine. 
Until  the  ducklings  all  came  out — 

Four,  five,  six,  seven,  eight,  nine  ! 

One  peeped  out  from  beneath  her  wing. 

One  scrambled  on  her  back  ; 
"  That's   very  rude,"   said   old   Dame 

Duck, 
*'  Get     off !     quack,      quack,    quack, 

quack." 

"'Tis  close,"  said  Dame  Duck,  shoving 
out 

The  egg-shells  with  her  bill ; 
"  Besides  it  never  suits  young  ducks 

To  keep  them  sitting  still." 

So,  rising  from  her  nest,  she  said, 
"  Now,  children,  look  at  me  : 

A  well-bred  duck  should  waddle  so, 
From  side  to  side — d'ye  see  ?  " 


18 


Poems  for  Children. 


"  Yes,"  said  the  little  ones,  and  then 

She  went  on  to  explain  : 
"  A  weil-bred  duck  turns  in  its  toes 

As  I  do — try  again." 

'  Yes,"  said  the  ducklings,  -waddhng  on. 

"  That's  better,"  said  their  mother  ; 
"  But  well-bred  ducks  walk  in  a  row, 

Straight — one  behind  another." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  little  ducks  again, 
All  waddUng  in  a  row ; 

"  Now  to  the  pond,"   said  old  Dame 
Duck- 
Splash  !  splash,  and  in  they  go. 

"  Let  me  swim  first,"  said  old  Dame 
Duck, 
"  To  this  side,  now  to  that ; 
There,    snap    at    those    great    brown- 
winged  flies. 
They  make  J'oung  ducklings  fat. 

"  Now,  when  you  reach  the  poultry- 
yard 

The  hen-wife,  Molly  Head 
Will  feed  you,  with  the  other  fowls, 

On  bran  and  mashed-up  bread  ; 

"  The   hens   will   peck  and   fight,    but 
mind, 

I  hope  that  all  of  you 
Will  gobble  up  the  food  as  fast 

As  well-bred  ducks  should  do. 

"  You'd  better  get  into  the  dish. 

Unless  it  is  too  small ; 
In  that  case  I  should  use  my  foot 

And  overturn  it  all." 

The  ducklings  did  as  they  were  bid, 
And  found  the  plan  so  good 

That,  from  that  day,  the  other  fo^\ls 
Got  hardly  any  food. 

Mrs.  Hawksliawe. 


THE  CHINESE  PIG. 

Old  Madam  Grumpli  the  pig  has  got 

A  pig-stye  of  her  own  ; 
She  is  a  most  uncommon  pig, 

And  likes  to  live  alone. 


A  red-tiled  roofing  covers  in 

The  one-half  of  her  stye  ; 
And  half,  surrounded  by  a  wall. 

Is  open  to  the  sky. 

There  stands  the  trough,  they  keep  it 
filled 

With  pig- wash  and  with  parings  ; 
And  all  the  other  pigs  declare 

Dame  Grumph  has  dainty  tarings. 

They  like  to  see  what  she's  about. 
And  poke  their  noses  through 

A  great  hole  in  the  pig-stye  door. 
From  Avhence  they  get  a  view. 

The  pigs  that  run  about  the  yard 

Are  very  lean  and  tall, 
With    long    hind    legs — but    Madam 
Grumph 

Is  round  as  any  ball. 

One  autumn  day  when  she  awoke 
('Twas  very  cold  and  raw). 

She  found  a  litter  of  young  pigs 
Half  buried  in  the  straw. 

"  Humph  !  "  said  the  dame;  "  now  let 
me  see 

How  many  have  I  got." 
She  counted  :  "  Six  and  four  are  ten — • 

Two  dead  ones  in  the  lot. 

"  Eight — that's  a  nice  round  family  : 
A  black  one  and  two  white  ; 

The  rest  are  spotted  like  myself. 
With  prick  ears.     That's  all  right. 

"  What's  to  be  done  with  these  dead 
things  ? 

They'd  better  be  thrown  out," 
Said  she,  and  packed  the  litter  round 

The  others  with  her  snout. 

"  What's  that,  old  Grumphy  1  "  said  a 

PJg. 
Whose    snout    peeped    through    the 

door ; 
"  There's    something    moving    in    the 

straw 
I  never  saw  before." 

"  I  wish  you'd  mind  your  own  affairs," 
Said  she,  and  stepped  between 

The  young  pigs  ami  tlie  pig-stye  door. 
Not  wishing  to  be  seen. 


Rhymes  for  Little   Ones. 


19 


"  I  hope  you  slept  well,"  said  the  pig. 

"  The  wind  was  very  high  ; 
You  are  most  comfortable  lodged — 

A  most  convenient  stye." 

"  I  thought  I  told  you  once  before 
To  mind  your  own  affairs," 

Said  she,  and  bristling  up  her  back. 
She  bit  the  lean  pig's  ears. 

"  Squeak !  "     said     the     bitten     pig, 
"  sque — e — eak  ! 

Old  Gruraphy's  biting  hard  ; " 
And  all  the  lean  pigs  scampered  up 

From  all  sides  of  the  yard. 

They  grumbled  and  they  grunted  low. 
They  squeaked  in  every  key. 

At  last  another  pig  peeped  through 
To  see  what  he  could  see. 

Dame  Grumph   was   standing   by  her 

pigs.  , 
And  looking  very  proud. 
And  all  the  little  piggy-wigs 
Were  squeaking  very  loud. 

"  These    lovely    creatures,"    said    Old 
Grumph, 

"  These  lovely  pigs  are  mine  ; 
They're  fat  and  pink,  like  human  baht-s, 

Most  promising  young  swine." 

"  Indeed  !  "  excltiimed  the  peeping  pig; 

"  I  never  should  have  thought 
They  were  so  very  promising." 

Old  Grumphy  gave  a  snort. 

"  They'  re  of  a  most  distinguished  race  : 
My  mother  and  her  brother 

Were  both  imported  from  Pekin — 
My  pigs  are  like  my  mother. 

"  They  never  shall  associate 

With  long-legged  pigs  like  yon," 

Said  she,  addressing  the  lean  pig 
Whose  snout  was  peeping  through. 

"  Begging  your  pardon, Madam  Grumph, 

I  really  think,"  said  he, 
"  The  difference  is  not  so  great 

As  it  appears  to  be. 

"  If  you  and  I  were  bacon,  ma'am. 

The  difference  between 
An  Irish  and  a  Chinese  pig 

Would  hardly  then  be  seen. 


"  Give  me  your  comfortable  stye, 
And,  above  all,  your  food. 

Our  little  families  might  prove 
Indifferently  good." 

Mrs,  Hawkshawe. 


A  CAT  TO  HER  KITTENS. 

"  Little  kittens,  be  quiet — be  quiet,  I 

say! 
You  see  I  am  not  in  the  humour  for 
^  play. 
I've  watched  a  long  time  every  crack 

in  the  house, 
Without   being   able   to   catch   you   a 

mouse. 

"  Now,  Muff,  I  desire  you  will  let  my 
foot  go  ; 

And,  Prinny,  how  can  you  keep  jump- 
ing, miss,  so  ? 

"  Little  Tiny,  get  up,  and  stand  on  your 

feet. 
And  be,  if  you  can,  a  httle  discreet ! 
Am  I  to  be  worried  and  harass'd  by 

you, 
Till  I  really  don't  know  what  to  think 

or  to  do  ? 

"  But  hush  !  hush  !  this  minute  !  now 

don't  mew  and  cry — 
My  anger  is  cooling,  and  soon  will  pass 

So  kiss  me  and  come  and  sit  down  on 

the  mat, 
And   make  your  dear  mother  a  nice 

happy  cat." 

Eliza  Grove. 


THE   CHORnS  OF  FBOQS. 

"  Yaup,  yaup,  yaup  !  " 

Said  the  croaking  voice  of  a  frog  : 
"  A  rainy  day 
In  the  month  of  May, 

And  plenty  of  room  in  the  bog." 

"  Yaup,  yaup,  yaup  !  " 
Said   the  frog,  as  it  hopped  away 

"  The  insects  feed 

On  the  floating  weed. 
And  I'm  hungry  for  dinner  to-day.' 


20 


Poems  for  Children. 


"  Yaup,  yaup,  yaup  !  " 
Said  the  frog  as  it  splashed  about : 
"  Good  neighbours  all, 
When  you  hear  me  call. 
It  is  odd  that  you  do  not  come  out." 

"  Yaup,  yaup,  yaup  !  " 
Said     the     frogs ;     "  it     is     charming 
weather  ; 
We'll  come  and  sup 
When  the  moon  is  up. 
And  we'll  all  of  us  croak  together." 

Mrs.  Hawkskawe. 


TO  A  BUTTEBFLY. 

BuTTEEFLY,    butterfly,    brilliant    and 

bright. 
How  very  often  I  envy  your  flight  ! 
I  think  I  should  like  through  the  whole 

summer  day. 
Like  you,  pretty  insect,  to  flutter  and 

play. 

Butterfly,  butterfly,  onward  you  fly. 

Now  skimming  so  lowly,  now  rising  so 
high, 

First  on  the  jessamine,  then  on  the 
rose. 

Then  you  will  visit  the  pinks,  I  sup- 
pose ? 

Now  you  are  resting,  pray  let  me  come 
near: 

I  will  not  hurt  you,  nor  touch  you, 
don't  fear ; 

For  mamma  says  my  hand  is  too  heavy 
by  far. 

To  touch  such  little  creatures  as  butter- 
flies are. 

Now    you    are    off    again.     Butterfly, 

stay  ; 
Don't  fly   away  from    me,   butterfly, 

pray  : 
Just   let   me   look   at   your   beautiful 

wings  ; 
Oh  !  it  does  not  mind  me,  but  upward 

it  springs. 

Lady  Flora  Hastings. 


Sweetest  notes  he  always  sung, 
Which  much  delighted  Mary ; 

Often  when  his  cage  was  himg. 
She  sat  to  hear  Canary. 

Crumbs  of  bread  and  dainty  seeds 
She  carried  to  him  daily  : 

Seeking  for  the  early  weeds. 
She  deck'd  his  palace  gaily. 

This,  my  little  readers,  learn. 
And  ever  practise  duly  ; 

Songs  and  smiles  of  love  retui-n 
To  fiiends  who  love  you  truly. 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  Turner. 


THE   MERBY  PLY. 

My  merry  httle  fly,  play  here. 

And  let  me  look  at  you  ; 
I  will  not  touch  you,  though  you're 
near. 

As  naughty  children  do. 

I  see  you  spread  your  pretty  wings. 

That  sparkle  in  the  sun  ; 
I  see  your  legs — what  tiny  things  ; 

And  yet  how  fast  they  run  ! 

You  walk  along  the  ceiling  now. 
And  down  the  upright  wall : 

I'll  ask  mamma  to  tell  me  how 
You  walk  and  do  not  fall. 

'Twas  God  that  taught  you,  little  fly, 
To  walk  above  the  ground. 

And  mount  above  my  head  so  high. 
And  frohc  round  and  round. 

I'll  near  you  stand  to  see  you  play  ; 

But  do  not  be  afraid  : 
I  would  not  lift  my  httle  hand 

To  hurt  what  God  has  made. 

Mary  Lundie  Duncan. 


THE    CANABY. 

Mary  had  a  Httle  bird. 

With  feathers  bright  and  yellow. 
Slender  legs — upon  my  word, 

He  was  a  pretty  fellow  1 


THE  CLOCKING  HEN. 

"  WiLi.  you  take  a  walk  with  me. 

My  little  wife  to-day  ? 
There's   barley  in  the   barley- fields. 

And  hay-seed  in  the  hay." 


Rhymes  for  Little  Ones. 


21 


"  Thank  you,"  said  the  clocking  lien  ; 

"I've  something  else  to  do  ; 
I'm  busy  sitting  on  my  eggs, 

I  cannot  walk  with  yoii." 

"(lock,  clock,  clock,  clock," 

Said  the  clocking  hen  ; 
"  .My  little  chicks  will  soon  be  hatch'd, 

J '11  think  about  it  then." 

The  clocking  hen  sat  on  her  nest, 

She  made  it  in  the  hay  ; 
And  warm  and  snug  beneath  her  breast 

A  dozen  white  eggs  lay 

Crack,  crack,  went  all  the  egg3  ; 

Out  dropp'd  the  chickens  small  I 
"  Clock,"  said  the  clocking  hen. 

Now  I  have  j'ou  all. 

"  Come  along,  my  little  chick, 
I'll  take  a  walk  with  you." 

"  Hallo  !  "  said  the  barn-door  cock, 
"  Cock-a-doodle-doo." 

Mrs.  Ilawkshawe. 


SLEEPY  HARRY. 

Get  up,  little  boy,    you  are  sleeping 

too  long. 
Your  brother  is  dressed  and  singing  a 


And  you  must  be  wakened, — oh !  fie  ! 

Come,  come  open  the  curtains,  and  let 

in  the  light. 
For  children  should  only  be  sleepy  at 

night. 

When  stars  may  be  seen  in  the  sky. 


THE    WORLD. 

I  Great,     wide,     beautiful,     wonderful 
world. 

With  the  wonderful  water  round  you 
I       curled. 

And   the   wonderful  grass   upon  your 
\       breast — 
'  World,  you  are  beautifully  drest. 

I  The  wonderful  air  is  over  me, 

I  And  the  wonderful  wind  is  shaking  the 

I      tree. 


It  walks  on  the  water  and  whirls  the 

mills, 
And  talks  to  itself  on  the  toiis  of  the 

hills. 

You  friendly  Earth  !  how  far  you  go, 
With  tlie  wheat-fields  that  nod  and  the 

rivers  that  flow. 
With  cities  and  gardens,  and  clilVs  and 

isles. 
And  people  upon  you  for  thousands  of 

miles  ? 

Ah  !  you  are  so  great,  and  I  am  so 

small, 
I  tremble  to  think  of  you.  World,  at  all ; 
And  yet  when  I  said  my  j^raycrs  to-day, 
A  whisper  inside  me  seemed  to  say, 
"  You  are  more  than  the  Earth,  though 

you  are  such  a  dot : 
You  can  love  and  think,  and  the  Earth 

cannot  1  " 

William  Brighty  Rands, 


THE  LAMB. 

Little  lamb,  who  made  thee  ? 
Dost  thou  know  who  made  thee  ? 
Gave  thee  life  and  bid  thee  feed 
By  the  stream  and  o'er  the  mead  ; 
Gave  thee  clothing  of  delight, 
Softest  clothing,  woolly,  bright ; 
Gave  thee  such  a  tender  voice 
Making  all  the  vales  rejoice  ; 

I^ittle  lamb,  who  made  thee  ? 

Dost  thou  know  who  made  thee  ? 

Little  lamb,  I'll  tell  thee. 
Little  lamb,  I'll  tell  thee. 
He  is  called  by  thy  name, 
For  He  calls  Himself  a  Lamb ; 
He  is  meek  and  He  is  mild. 
He  became  a  little  child 
I  a  child  and  thou  a  lamb. 
We  are  called  by  His  name 

Little  lamb,  God  bless  thee. 
Little  lamb,  God  bless  thee. 

William  Blake. 


THE    LOST   LAMB. 

Storm  upon  the  mountain. 
Night  upon  its  throne  ! 

And  the  Uttle  snow-white  lamb. 
Left  alone,  alone  ! 


22 


Poems  for  Children. 


Storm  upon  the  mountain, 

Eainy  torrents  beating, 
And  the  little  snow-white  lamb. 

Bleating,  ever  bleating  ! 

Down  the  glen  the  shepherd 

Drives  his  flock  afar ; 
Through  the  murky  mist  and  cloud, 

Shines  no  beacon  star. 
Fast  he  hurries  onward. 

Never  hears  the  moan 
Of  the  pretty  snow-white  lamb, 

Left  alone,  alone  ! 

At  the  shepherd's  doorway 

Stands  his  little  son  ; 
Sees  the  sheep  come  trooping  home, 

Counts  them  one  by  one  : 
Counts  them  full  and  fairly — 

Trace  he  findcth  none 
Of  the  little  snow-white  lamb. 

Left  alone,  alone  ! 

Up  the  glen  he  races, 

Breasts  the  bitter  wind. 
Scours  across  the  plain  and  leaves 

Wood  and  wold  behind  ; — 
Storm  upon  the  mountain. 

Night  upon  its  throne, — 
There  he  finds  the  Uttle  lamb. 

Left  alone,  alone  ! 

Struggling,  panting,  sobbing. 

Kneeling  on  the  ground, 
Round  the  pretty  creature's  neck 

Both  his  arms  are  wound  ; 
Soon  within  his  bosom. 

All  its  bleatings  done. 
Home  he  bears  the  little  lamb. 

Left  alone,  alone  ! 

Oh  !  the  happy  faces. 

By  the  shepherd's  fire  ! 
High  without  the  tempest  roars. 

But  the  laugh  rings  higher. 
Young  and  old  together 

Make  that  joy  their  own. — 
In  their  midst  the  little  lamb. 

Left  alone,  alone  ! 

Thomas  Westwood. 


THE    GREEDY     PIGGY     THAT 

ATE  TOO   FAST. 
"  Oh,  Piggy,  what  was  in  your  trough 
That  thus  you   raise  your  head   and 
cough  ? 


Was  it  a  rough,  a  crooked  bone. 
That  cookey  m  the  pail   had  thrown  ? 
Speak,  Piggy,  speak  !  and  tell  me  plain 
What  'tis  that  seems  to  cause  you  pain." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  sir  !  I  will  speak  out 
As  soon  as  I  can  clear  my  throat. 
Tliis  morning,  when  I  left  my  stye, 
So  eager  for  my  food  was  I, 
That  I  began  my  rich  repast — 
I  blush  to  own  it — rather  fast ; 
And,  what  with  haste,  sir,  and  iU-luck, 
A  something  in  my  poor  throat  stuck. 
Which  I  discover'd  very  soon 
To  be  a  silver  table-spoon. 
This,  sir,  is  all — no  other  tale 
Have  I  against  the  kitchen-pail." 

"  I  hope  it  is  ;   but  I  must  own 
I'm  sorry  for  my  table-spoon ; 
And  scarcely  can  I  overlook 
The  carelessness  of  Mistress  Cook- 
But,  Piggy,  profit  by  your  pain. 
And  do  not  eat  so  fast  again." 

Eliza  Grove. 


A  lilTTIiE   HOBBY-HORSE. 

Theee  was  a  little  hobby-horse. 
Whose  name  I  do  not  know, — 

An  idle  little  hobby-horse. 
That  said  he  wouldn't  go. 

But  his  master  said,  "  If  it  be  so 
That  you  wiU  only  play. 

You  idle  rogue,  j'ou  shall  not  eat 
My  nice  sweet  clover-hay  !  " 

Then  Hobby  shook  his  saucy  head, 
And  said,  "  If  that's  the  case. 

Bather  than  go  Mithout  my  hay, 
I'll  try  and  mend  my  pace." 

Eliza  Grove. 


THE    POND.  J 

There  was  a  round  pond,  and  a  pretty  i 
pond  too,  ; 

About  it  white  daisies  and  butter- 
flowers  grew  ; 

And  darkweeping  willows  that  stoop 
to  the  ground, 

Dipp'd  in  their  long  branches  and 
shaded  it  round. 


Rhymes  for  Little  Ones. 


23 


A  party  of  ducks  to  this  pond  would 

repair. 
To  feast  on  the  green  water- weeds  that 

grew  there  : 
Indeed,  the  assembly  would  frequently 

meet. 
To   talk  over  aflfairs  in  this  pleasant 

retreat. 

Now,  the  subjects  on  which  they  were 

wont  to  converse, 
I'm  sorry  I  cannot  include  in  my  verse  ; 
For  though  I've  oft  listened,  in  hopes 

of  discerning, 
I  own  'tis  a  matter  that  baffles  my 

learning. 

One  day  a  young  chicken  that  lived 

thereabout. 
Stood  watching  to  see  the  ducks  pass 

in  and  out ; 
Now  standing  tail  upward,  now  diving 

below  ; 
She  thought  of  all  things  she  should 

hke  to  do  so. 


She  splashed  and  she  dashed  and  she 

turned  herself  round. 
And    heartily    wished    herself  safe  on 

the  gi-ound. 

But  'twas  too  late  to  begin  to  repent. 
The  harder  she  struggled  the  deeper 

she  went ; 
And  when  every  effort  she  vainly  had 

tried, 
She  slowly  sunk  down  to  the  bottom 

and  died  ! 

The  ducks,  I  perceived,  began  loudly  to 

quack. 
When  they  saw  the  poor  fowl  floating 

dead  on  its  back ; 
And  by  their  grave  gestures  and  looks 

•'twas   apparent 
They    discoursed    on    the    sin    of    not 
minding  a  parent. 

Jane  Taylor. 


So  this  foohsh  chicken  began  to  de- 
clare, 

"  I've  really  a  great  mind  to  venture 
in  there  ; 

My  mother  oft  tells  nie  I  must  not  go 
nigh. 

But  then,  for  my  part,  I  can  never 
tell  ^\hy. 

"  Wings  and  feathers  have  ducks,  and 

so  have  I  too  ; 
And  my  feet,  what's  the  reason  that 

they  will  not  do  ? 
Though  my  beak  is  pointed,  and  their 

beaks  are  round. 
Is  that  any  reason  that  I  should  be 

drowned  ? 

*'  So  why  should  not  I  swim  as  well 

as  a  duck  ? 
Suppose  that  I  venture,  and  e'en  try 

my  luck  ! 
For,"   said  she  (spite  of  all  that  her 

mother  had  taught  her), 
"  I    am    so    remarkably    fond    of   the 

water." 

So  in  this  poor  ignorant  creature  flew, 
But  soon    found    her    dear    mother's 
cautions  were  true ; 


THE  SPIDEB  AND  HIS  WIFE. 

In  a  dark  little  crack,  half  a  yard  from 
the  ground, 
An  honest  old  spider  resided  ; 
So  pleasant,  and  snug,  and  convenient 

'twas  found. 
That   his   friends   came   to  see  it  for 
many   miles  round  : 
It  seemed  for  his  pleasure  provided. 

Of  the  cares,  and  fatigues,  and  distresses 
of  hfe, 
This  spider  was  thoroughly  tired  : 
So,  leaving  those  scenes  of  contention 

and  strife 
(His  children  all  settled),  he  came  with 
his  wife, 
To  live  in  this  cranny  retired. 

He   thought   that   the   little   his    wife 
would  consume 
'Twould  be  easy  for  him  to  provide 
her ; 
Forgetting  he  hved  in   a   gentleman's 

room. 
Where   came   every   morning   a   maid 
and  a  broom. 
Those  pitiless  foes  to  a  spider  I 


i 


24 


Poems  for  Children. 


For    when    (as    sometimes    it    would 
chance  to  befall). 
Just  Mhen  his  neat  web  was  com- 
pleted, 
Brush — came   the   great   broom   down 

the  side  of  the  wall, 
And,    perhaps,    carried    with   it,    web, 
spider,  and  all, 
He  thought  himself  cruelly  treated. 

One   day,    when   their   cupboard    was 
empty  and  dry. 
His  wife  (Mrs.  Hairy-leg  Spinner), 
Said  to  him,  "  Dear,  go  to  the  cobweb 

and  try 
If  you  can't  find  the  leg  or  the  wing 
of  a  fly. 
As  a  bit  of  a  relish  for  dinner  " 

Directly  he  went,  his  long  search  to 
resume 
(For  notliing  he  ever  denied  her), 
Alas  !  little  guessing  his  terrible  doom. 
Just  then  came  the  gentleman  into  Iiis 
room 
And  saw  the  unfortunate  spider. 

So  while  the  poor  fellow  in  search  of 
his  pelf, 
In  the  cobweb  continued  to  linger. 
The  gentleman  reached  a  long  cane  from 

the  shelf 
{For  certain  good  reasons  best  known  to 
himself, 
Preferring  his  stick  to  his  finger). 

Then  presently,  poking  him  down   to 
the  floor. 
Nor  stopping  at  all  to  consider. 
With  one  horrid  crash  the  whole  bus'- 

ness  was  o'er. 
The  poor  little  spider  was  heard  of  no 
more. 
To  the  lasting  distress  of  his  widow  I 

lane  Taylor. 


THE    BUTTERFLY'S    BALL. 

Come,  take  up  yoiu:  hats,  and  away 
let  us  haste 

To  the  Butterfly's  ball  and  the  Grass- 
hopper's feast ; 

The  trumpeter  Gadfly  has  summon'd 
the  crew. 

And  the  revels  are  now  only  waiting 
for  vou. 


On  the  smooth  shaken   grass  by   the 

side  of  the  wood, 
Beneath  a  broad  oak  that  for  ages  has 

stood. 
See    the   children    of   earth,    and    the 

tenants  of  air, 
For  an  evening's  amusement  together 

repair. 

And  there  came  the  Beetle,  so  blind 

and  so  black. 
Who  carried  the  Emmet,  his  friend,  on 

his  back  ; 
And    there    was    the    Gnat,  and    the 

Dragon-fly  too. 
With  all  their  relations,  green,  orange, 

and  blue. 

And    there    came    the    Moth    in    his 

plumage  of  doTvn, 
And  the   Hornet  in  jacket  of  yellow 

and  brown. 
Who  with  him  the  Wasp  his  companion 

did  bring. 
But    they    promised    that   evening    to 

lay  by  theii-  sting. 

And  the  sly  little  Dormouse  crept  out 

of  his  hole. 
And  lead  to  the  feast  liis  blind  brother 

the  Mole  ; 
And  the  Snail,  with  his  horns  peeping 

out  from  his  shell, 
Came  from  a  great  distance — the  length 

of  an  ell. 

A  mushroom  their  table,  and  on  it  was 

laid 
A  water  dock  leaf,  with  a  table-cloth 

made  ; 
The  viands  were  various,   to  each  of 

their  taste. 
And    the    Bee    brought   his    honey    to 

crown  the  repast. 

There  close  on  his  haunches,  so  solemn 

and  wise 
The  Frog  from  a  corner  look'd  up  to 

the  skies  ; 
And    the    Squirrel    well-pleased    such 

diversion  to  see. 
Sat  cracking  his  nuts  overhead  in   a 

tree. 

Then  out  came  the  Spider,  with  fingers 

so  fine. 
To  show  his   dexterity   on   the  tight 

lino; 


Rhymes  for  Little   Ones. 


From  one  branch  to  another  liis  cob- 
webs he  shing, 

Then  as  quick  as  an  arrow  he  darted 
along. 

But  just  in  the  niiildle,  oh  !  shocking 

to  tell  ! 
From    his    rope    in    an    instant    poor 

Harlequin  fell ; 
Yet  he  touch'd  not  the  ground,   but 

with  talons  outspread, 
Hung  suspended  in  air  at  the  end  of 

a  thread. 

Then    the    Grasshopper    came  with  a 

jerk  and  a  spring. 
Very    long    was    his    leg,    though    but 

short  was  his  wing  ; 
He  took  but  three  leaps,  and  was  soon 

out  of  sight, 
Then  chirp'd  his  own  praises  the  rest 

of  the  night. 

With  step  so   majestic   the  Snail   did 

advance, 
And  promised  the  gazers  a  minuet  to 

dance  ; 
But  they  all    laugh'd  so  loud  that  he 

pull'd  in  his  head. 
And  went  in  his  own  little  chamber  to 

bed. 

Then    as    evening    gave    way    to    the 

shadows  of  night, 
The  watchman,  the  Glow-worm,  came 

out  with  his  light ; 
Then  home  let  us  hasten  while  yet  we 

can  see. 
For  no  watchman  is  waiting  for  you 

and  for  me. 

William  Roscoe. 


THE  BUTTERFLY'S 
FTJlTEEAIi. 

Oh  ye  !  who  so  lately  were  blithesome 

and  gay. 
At  the   Butterfly's  banquet  carousing 

away  ; 
Your  feasts  and  your  revels  of  pleasure 

are  fled. 
For    the    chief    of    the    banquet,    the 

Butterfly's  dead  ! 


No  longer  the  Flies  and  the  Emmets 

advance. 
To  join  with  their  friends  in  the  Grass 

hopper's  dance. 
For  see  his  fine  form  o'er  the  favourite 

bend. 
And   the   Grasshopper  mourns  for  the 

loss  of  his  fiiend. 

And  hark  to  the  funeral  dirge  of  the 

Bee, 
And  the  Beetle,  who  follows  as  solemn 

as  he  ! 
And  see,  where  so  mournful  the  green 

lu.-^hes  wave. 
The  Mole  is  preparing  the  Butterfly's 

grave. 

The  Dormouse  attended,  but  coid  and 

forlorn, 
And  the  Gnat  slowly  winded  his  shrill 

little  horn  ; 
And  the  Moth,   being  grieved   at  the 

loss  of  a  sister. 
Bent  over  her  body  and  silently  kissed 

her. 

The  corpse  was  embalmed  at  the  set 
of  the  sun. 

And  enclosed  in  a  case  which  the  Silk- 
worm had  spun  ; 

Bj^  the  help  of  the  Hornet  the  coffin 
was  laid 

On  a  bier  out  of  myrtle  and  jessamine 
made. 

In  weepers  and  scarfs  came  the  Butter- 
flies all. 

And  six  of  their  number  supported  the 
pall; 

And  the  Spider  came  there  in  his 
monruing  so  black. 

But  the  lire  of  the  Glow-worm  soon 
frightened  him  back. 

The  Grub  left  his  nut-shell  to  join  the 
sad  throng. 

And  slowly  led  with  him  the  Book- 
worm along. 

Who  wept  for  his  neighbour's  vuifor- 
tunatc  doom, 

.\nd  wrote  these  few  lines,  to  be  placed 
on  his  tomb  : 

Epiiaph. 

At  this  solemn  spot,  where  the  green 
rushes  Avave, 

In  sadness  we  bent  o'er  the  Butter- 
fly's grave  : 


26 


Poems  for  Children. 


'Twa3  here  the  last  tribute   to  beauty 

we  paid, 
As  we  wept  o'er  the  moimd  where  her 

ashes  are  laid. 

And  here  shall  the  daisy  and  violet 
blow. 

And  the  Uly  discover  her  bosom  of 
snow  ; 

While  under  the  leaves,  in  the  even- 
ings of  spring. 

Still  mourning  his  friend,  shall  the 
Grasshopper  sing. 

THE    SPIDER   AND    THE    FLY. 

'  Will  you  walk  into  my  parlour  ?  " 

said  the  Spider  to  the  Fly, 
"  'Tis  the  prettiest  little  jjarlour  that 

ever  you  did  spy  ; 
The  way  into  my  parlour  is  up  a  wind- 
ing stair. 
And  I  have  many  curious  things  to 

show  when  you  are  there." 
"  Oh,  no,  no,"  said  the  little  Fly ;  "  to 

ask  me  is  in  vain  ; 
For  who  goes  up  your  winding    stair 

can  ne'er  come  down  again." 
"  I'm  sure  you  must  be  weary,  dear, 

with  soaring  up  so  high  ; 
Will  you  rest  upon  my  little  bed  ?  " 

said  the  Spider  to  the  Fly. 
"  There    are    pretty    curtains    drawn 

around  ;  the  sheets  are  fine  and  thin. 
And   if  you   hke   to   rest   awhile,   I'll 

snugly  tuck  you  in  !  " 
"  Oh, no,  no,"  said  the  httle  Fly,  "for 

I've  often  heard  it  said, 
They   never,   never  wake   again,   who 

sleep  upon  your  bed  !  " 
Said  the  cunning  Spider  to  the  Fly : 

"  Dear  friend,  what  can  I  do. 
To  prove  the  warm  affection  I've  always 

felt  for  you  ? 
I  have  within  my  pantry  good  store 

of  all  that's  nice  ; 
I'm   sure    you're   very    welcome — will 

you  please  to  take  a  slice  ?  " 
"  Oh,  no,  no,"  said  the  little  Fly,  "  kind 

sir,  that  cannot  be, 
I've  heard  what's  in  your  pantry,  and 

I  do  not  wish  to  see  !  " 
"  Sweet   creature  !  "    said   the   Spider, 

"  you're  witty  and  you're  wise, 
How  handsome  are  your  gauzy  wings, 

how  brilliant  are  your  eyes  ; 
I  have  a  little  looking-glass  upon  my 

parlour  shelf, 


If  you'll  step  in  one  moment,  dear,  you 

shall  behold  yourself." 
"  I   thank  you,  gentle  sir,"  she  said, 

"  for  what  you're  pleased  to  say. 
And  bidding  you  good  morning  now, 

I  call  another  day." 

The  Spider  turned  him  round  about, 

and  went  into  his  den. 
For  well  he  knew  the  silly  Fly  would 

soon  come  back  again  : 
So  he  wove  a  subtle  web  in  a  little 

corner  sly. 
And  set  his  table  ready  to  dine  upon 

the   Fly. 
Then  he  came  out  to  his  door  again, 

and   merrilv   did  sing, 
"  Come  hither,  hither,  pretty  Fly,  with 

the  pearl  and  silver  wing ; 
Your   robes    are   green    and   purple — 

there's  a  crest  upon  your  head  ; 
Your  eyes  are  like  the  diamond  bright, 

but  mine  are  dull  as  lead  !  " 
Alas,   alas  !   how   very  soon  this  silly 

little  Fly, 
Hearing    his    wily,    flattering    words, 

came  slowly  flitting  by  ; 
With   buzzing   wings   she   hung  aloft, 

then  neai"  and  nearer  drew. 
Thinking  only  of  her  brilliant  eyea,  and 

green   and  purple  hue — 
Thinking  only  of  her  crested  head — 

poor  fooUsh  thing  ! — at  last 
Up   jump'd    the   cunning   Spider,    and 

fiercely  held  her  fast. 
He  dragg'd  her  up  his  winding  stair, 

into  his  dismal  den. 
Within  his  little  parlour — but  she  ne'er 

came  out  again  ! 

And  now,  dear  little  children,  who  may 

this  story  read. 
To  idle,  silly,  flattering  words,  I  pray 

you  ne'er  give  heed  : 
Unto  an  evil  counsellor  close  heart  and 

ear  and  eye. 
And  take  a  lesson  from  this  tale,  of  the 

Spider  and  the  Fly. 

Mary  Howitt. 


OLD    DOBBIN. 

Here's  a  song  for  old  Dobbin  whose 

temper  and  worth 
Are   too   rare   to   be  spumed   on   the 

score  of  his  birth. 


Rhymes  for  Little  Ones. 


27 


He's  a  creature  of  trust,  and  what  more 

should  we  lieed  ? 
'Tis  deeds,  and  not  blood,  make  the 

man  and  the  steed. 

He  was  bred  in  the  forest,  and  turned  on 

the  plain, 
Where    the   thistle-burs   clung   to   his 

fetlocks  and  mane. 
All  ugly  and  rough,  not  a  soul  could 

espy 
The  spark  of  good-nature  that  dwelt 

in  his  eye. 

The    summer    had    waned    and    the 

autumn  months  rolled 
Into  those  of  stern  winter,  all  dreary 

and  cold  ; 
But  the  north  wind  might  whistle,  the 

snow  Hake  might  dance. 
The  colt  of  the  common  was  left  to 

his  chance. 

Half-starved  and  half-frozen,  the  hail- 
storm would  pelt 

Till  his  shivering  limbs  told  the  pangs 
that  he  felt ; 

But  we  pitied  the  brute,  and  though 
laughed  at  by  all. 

We  filled  him  a  manger  and  gave  him 
a  stall. 

He  was  fond  as  a  spaniel,  and  soon 

he  became 
The  pride  of  the  heid-boy,  the  pet  of 

the  dame  ; 
'Tis  well  that  his  niaiket  price  cannot 

be  known; 
But  wo  christened   him  Dobbin,   and 

called  him  our  own. 

He  grew  out  of  colthood,  and,  lo  I 
what  a  change ! 

The  knowing  ones  said  it  was  "  mor- 
tally strange  "  ; 

For  the  foal  of  the  forest,  the  colt  of 
the  waste 

Attracted  the  notice  of  jockeys  of 
taste. 

The  line  of  his  symmetry  was  not  exact. 

But  his  paces  were  clever,  his  mould 
was  compact ; 

And  his  shaggy  thick  coat  now  ap- 
peared with  a  gloss. 

Shining  out  like  the  gold  that's  been 
purged  of  its  dross. 


We  broke  him  for  service,  and  tamely 

he  wore 
Girth  and  rein,  seeming  proud  of  the 

thraldom  he  bore  ; 
Each  farm,  it  is  known,  must  possess 

an  "  odd  "  stead. 
And   Dobbin   was  ours,   for  all  times 

and  all  need. 

He  carried  the  master  to   barter   his 

grain. 
And    ever   returned    with   him   safely 

again  ; 
There  was  merit  in  that,  for — deny  it 

who  may — 
When   the   master   could   not   Dobbin 

could  find  his  way. 

The  dairy-maid  ventured  her  eggs  on 

his  back, 
'Twas  him,  and  him  only,  she'd  trust 

with  the  pack ; 
The   team-horses   jolted,   the  roadster 

played  pranks  ; 
So   Dobbin   alone   had   her   faith   and 

her  thanks. 

We  fun-loving  urchins  would  group  by 

his  side ; 
We  might  fearlessly  mount  him,  and 

daringly  ride  ; 
We  might  creep  through  his  legs,  we 

might  plait  his  long  tail, 
But  his  temper  and  patience  were  ne'er 

known  to  fail. 

We  would   brush  his  bright  hide  till 

t'was  free  from  a  speck, 
We    kissed    his    brown    muzzle,    and 

hugged  his  thick  neck  ; 
Oh  !   we  prized  him   hke  life,   and  a 

heart-breaking  sob 
Ever  burst  when  they  threatened  to 

sell  our  dear  Dob. 

He  stood  to  the  collar,  and  tugged  up 
the  liill. 

With  the  pigs  to  the  market,  the  grist 
to  the  mill ; 

With  saddle  or  halter,  in  shaft  or  in 
trace. 

He  was  staunch  to  his  work,  and  con- 
tent with  his  place. 

When  the  hot  sun  was  crowning  the 

toil  of  the  year, 
He  was  sent  to  the  reapers  with  ale 

and  good  cheer ; 


28 


Poems  for  Children. 


And  none  in  the  corn-field  more  wel- 
come were  seen 

Than  Dob  and  his  well-laden  panniers, 
I  ween. 

Oh  !   those  days  of  pure  bliss  shall  I 

ever  forget, 
When  we  decked  out  his  head  with  the 

azure  rosette  ? 
All  frantic  with  joy  to  be  off  to  the 

fair, 
With  Dobbin,  good  Dobbin,  to  carry 

us  there  ? 

He  was  dear  to  us  all,  ay,  for  many 

long  years ; — 
But,    mercy !    how's    this  ?     my    eyes 

filling  with  tears  ! 
Oh,   how  cruelly  sweet  are  the  echoes 

that  start 
When  memory  plays  an  old  tune  on 

the  heart. 

There  are  drops  on  my  cheek,  there's 

a  throb  in  my  breast. 
But  my  song  shall  not  cease,  nor  my 

pen  take  its  rest, 
Till  I  tell  that  old  Dobbin  still  Uves  to 

be  seen 
With  his  oats  in  the  stable,  his  tares 

on  the  green. 

His  best  years  have  gone  by,  and  the 
master  who  gave 

The  stern  yoke  to  his  youth  has  en- 
franchised the  slave ; 

So  browse  on,  my  old  Dobbin,  nor 
dream  of  the  knife. 

For  the  wealth  of  a  king  should  not 
purchase  thy  life. 

Eliza  Cook. 


THE  MOUSE  AND  THE  CAKE. 

A  MOUSE   found   a   beautiful   piece  of 

plum-cake. 
The  richest  and  sweetest  that  mortal 

could  make  ; 
'Twas  heavy  with  citron,  and  fragrant 

with  spice. 
And  cover'd  with  sugar  all  sparkling 

as  ice. 


"  My  stars  !  "   said  the  Mouse,   while 

his  eye  beamed  vnth  glee, 
"  Here's  a  treasure  I've  found  ;    what 

a  feast  it  will  be  ! 
But,   hark  !   there's  a  noise ;    'tis  my 

brothers  at  plaj% 
So  I'll  hide  with  the  cake,  lest  they 

wander  this  way. 

"  Not  a  bit  shall  they  have,  for  I  know 

I  can  eat 
Every    morsel   myself,    and   I'll   have 

such  a  treat  "  ; 
So  off  went  the  mouse  as  he  held  the 

cake  fast, 
Wliile  his  hungry  young  brothers  went 

scampering  past. 


He  nibbled,  and  nibbled,  and  panted, 

but  still 
He  kept  gulping  it  down  till  he  made 

himself  ill ; 
Yet  he  swallow'd  it  all,  and  'tis  easy  to 

guess. 
He  was  soon  so  unwell  that  he  groan'd 

with  distress. 


His  family  heard  him,  and  as  he  grew 
worse. 

They  sent  for  the  doctor,  who  made 
him  rehearse 

How  he'd  eaten  the  cake  to  the  very 
last  crumb. 

Without  giving  his  playmates  and  rela- 
tives some. 


"  Ah,  me  !  "  cried  the  Doctor,  "  advice 

is  too  late, 
You  must  die  befoie  long,  so  prepare 

for  your  fate  ; 
If  j'ou  had  but  divided  the  cake  with 

your  brothers 
'Twould  have  done  you  no  harm,  and 

been  good  for  the  others. 


"  Had  yoii  shared  it  the  treat  had  been 

wholesome  enough  ; 
But  all  eaten  by  one,  it  was  dangerous 

stuff ; 
So  prepare  for  the  worst,"  and  the  word 

had  scai'ce  fled, 
\\'hen  the  doctor  turned  round,   and 

the  patient  waa  dead. 


Rhymes  for  Little  Ones. 


29 


Now  all  little  people  the  lesson  may 

take. 
And  some  large  ones  may  leam  from 

the  mouse  and  the  cake; 
Not  to  be  over  selfish  with  what  we 

may  gain. 
Or  the  best  of  our  pleasures  may  turn 

into  pain. 

Eliza  Cook. 


THE   DEATH  OF  MASTER 
TOMMY    ROOK. 

A  PAIR  of  steady  rooks 
Chose  the  safest  of  all  nooks 
In  the  hollow  of  a  tree  to  build  their 
home  ; 
Antl  while  they  kept  within 
They  did  not  care  a  pin 
For  any  roving  sportsman  who  might 
come. 

Their  family  of  five 

Were  all  happy  and  ah"ve, 

And  Mrs.  Rook  was  careful  as  could  be. 
To  never  let  them  out 
Till  she  looked  all  round  about, 

And  saw  that  they  might  wander  far 
and  free. 

She  had  talked  to  every  one 
Of  the  dangers  of  a  gun, 
And  fondly  begged  that  none  of  them 
woidd  stir 
To  take  a  distant   llight. 
At  morning,  noon,   or  night. 
Before  they  prudently  asked  leave  of 
her. 

But  one  fine  sunny  day, 

Toward  the  end  of  May, 
Young  Tommy  Rook  began  to  scorn  her 
power, 

And  said  that  he  would  fly 

Into  the  field  close  by, 
And  walk  among  the  daisies  for  an  hour. 

"Stop,  stop  !  "  she  cried,  alarmed, 
"  I  see  a  man  that's  armeil. 

And  he  will  shoot  you,  sure  as  you  are 
seen  ; 
Wait  till  he  goes,  and  then, 
Secure  from  guns  and  men. 

We  all  will  have  a  ramble  on  the  green." 


But  Master  Tommy  Rook, 
With  a  very  saucy  look. 
Perched    on    a   twig   and    plumed    his 
jetty  breast ; 
Still  talking  all  the  while 
In  a  very  pompous  style. 
Of  doing  just  what  he  might  like  the 
best. 

"  I  don't  care  one  bit,"  said  he, 

"  For  any  gun  you  see  ; 
I  am  tired  of  the  cautions  you  bestow  ; 

I  mean  to  have  my  way. 

Whatever  you  may  say. 
And  shall  not  ask  when  I  may  stay 
or  go." 

"  But,  my  son,"  the  Mother  cried, 

"  I  only  wish  to  guide 
Till  you  are  wise  and  fit  to  go  alone. 

I  have  seen  much  more  of  life. 

Of  danger,  woe,  and  strife 
Than  you,  my  child,  can  possibly  have 
known. 

"  Just  wait  ten  minutes  here, — 
Let  that  man  disappear ; 
I  am  sure  he  means  to  do  some  evil 
thing  ; 
I  fear  you  may  be  shot 
If  you  leave  this  sheltered  spot," 
So  pray  come  back,  and   keep  beside 
my  wing." 

But  Master  Tommy  Rook 
Gave  another  saucy  look, 
And  chattered  out,  "  Don't  care  !  don't 
care  !  don't  care  !  " 
And  off  he  flew  Avith  glee 
Fi'om  his  brothers  in  the  tree. 
And  hghted  on  the  field  so  green  and 
fair. 

He  hopped  about  and  found 
All  pleasant  things  around  ; 
He  strutted  through  the  daisies, — but 
alas  ! 
A  loud  shot — bang  ! — was  heard, 
And   the  wounded,  silly   bird 
Rolled  over,   faint  and  dying,   on   the 
grass 

"  There,  there  !  I  told  you  so  !  " 
Cried  his  mother  in  her  woe  ; 
"  I  warned  you  with  a  parent's  thought- 
ful truth  ; 


30 


Poems  for  Children. 


And  you  see  that  I  was  right 
When  I  tried  to  stop  your  flight, 
And  said  you  needed  me  to  guide  your 
youth." 

Poor  Master  Tommy  Rook 
Gave  a  melancholy  look 
And  cried,  just  as  he  drew  his  latest 
breath  : 
"  Forgive  me,  mother  dear, 
And  let  my  brothers  hear 
That    disobedience    caused    my    cruel 
death." 

Now,  when  his  lot  was  told. 

The  rooks,  both  young  and  old. 
All  said  he  should  have  done  as  he  was 
bid,— 

That  he  well  deserved  his  fate ; 

And  I,  who  now  relate 
His  hapless  story,  really  think  he  did. 

Eliza  Cook. 


HOME    FOR    THE    HOILIDAYS. 

Home  for  the  Hohdays,  here  we  go  ! 
Bless    me !    the    train    is    exceedingly 

slow  ! 
Pray,  Mr.  Engineer,  get  up  your  steam. 
And  let  us  be  off  with  a  pufE  and  a 

scream  ! 
We  have  two  long  hours  to  travel,  you 

say; 
Come,  Mr.  Engineer,  gallop  away  ! 
Two  hours  more  !  why  the  sun  will  be 

down 
Before    we    reach    dear    old    London 

Town! 
And   what  a  number  of  fathers   and 

mothers. 
And  uncles  and  aunts,  and  sisters  and 

brothers 
Will  be  there  to  meet  us — oh !  do  make 

haste. 
For  I'm  sure,  Mr.  Guard,  we  have  no 

time  to  waste  ! 
Thank   goodness    we    shan't    have   to 

study  and  stammer 
Over  Latin,  and  sums,  and  that  nasty 

French  grammar  ! 
Lectures,  and  classes,  and  lessons  are 

done. 
And  now  we'll  have  nothing  but  frolic 

aud  iuu 


Home  for  the  holidays,  here  we  go  ! 
But  this  Fast  Train  is  exceedingly  slow. 
We  shall  have  sport  when  Christmas 

comes. 
When  "  snap-dragon  "  burns  our  fingers 

and  thumbs  ! 
We'll   hang   mistletoe   over   our   dear 

little  cousins. 
And   pull  them  beneath  it,   and   kiss 

them  by  dozens ; 
We  shall  have  games  at  "  blind-man's- 
buff," 
And  noise  and  laughter  and  romping 

enough  ; 
We'll   crown   the   plum-pudding   with 

bunches  of  bay. 
And  roast  all  the  chestnuts  that  come 

in  our  way  ; 
And   when  Twelfth  Night  falls,   we'U 

have  such  a  cake 
That  as  we  stand  round  it  the  table 

shall  quake. 
We'll  di-aw  "  King  and  Queen,"   and 

be   happy  together. 
And    dance    old    "  Sir    Roger "    with 

hearts  hke  a  feather. 
Home  for  the  hohdays,  here  we  go  ! 
But    this    Fast   Train    is    exceedingly 

slow  ! 

And  we'll  go  and  see  Harlequin's  won- 
derful feats, 

Changing  by  magic  whatever  he  meets  ; 

And  Columbine,  too,  with  her  beautiful 
tripping, 

And  Clown  with  his  tumbling,  and 
jumping,  and  sHpping, 

Cramming  all  things  in  his  pockets  so 
big, 

And  letting  off  crackers  in  Pantaloon's 


The  horses  that  danced,  too,  last  year 

in  the  ring. 
We  remember  the  tune,  it  was  sweet 

"  Tink-a-Ting," 
And  their  tails  and  their  manes,  and 

their  sleek  coats  so  bright ; 
Some  cream  and  some  piebald,  some 

black  and  some  white ; 
And   how   Mr.  Merryman  made  us  all 

shout 
When  he  fell  from  his  horse,  and  went 

rolUng  about ; 
We'll    be  sure   to  go   there — 'tis   such 

capital  fun. 
And    we   won't   stir   an   inch   till    it's 

every  bit  done  1 


Rhymes  for  Little  Ones. 


31 


Mr    Punch,  we'll  have  him,  too,  our 

famous  old  friend — 
One  might  see  liim  for  ever,  and  laugh 

to  the  end  ; 
With  his  little  dog  Toby,  so  clever  and 

wise, 
And  poor  Mrs.  Judy,  with  tears  in  her 

ej'es  ; 
With  the  constable  taking  him  off  to 

the  bar, 
And  the  gentleman  talking  his  "  Shilla- 

balla  "  ; 
With  tlie  flourishing  stick  that  knocks 

ail  of  tlieni  down. 
For    Punch's    delight    is    breaking    a 

crown 

Home  for  the  hohdays,  here  we  go  ! 
But    really    this    train    is    exceedingly 

slow  ; 
Yet,  stay  !     I  declare  here  is  London 

at  last  1 
The  Park  is  right  over  the  timnel  just 

pass'd. 
Huzza  !  Huzza  !     I  can  see  my  papa  ! 
I  can  see  George's  nncle,  and  Edward's 

mamma  ! 
And  Fred,  there's  your  brother  !    Look ! 

look  !  there  he  stands  ! 
They    see    us  !    they   see   us  !    they're 

waving  their  hands  ! 
Why  don't  the  train  stop  ?  what  are 

t  ey  about  ? 
Now,  now  it  is  steady — oh  !  pray  let 

us  out ! 
A    cheer   for   old    London,    a   kiss    for 

mamma. 
We're   home   for   the   holidays.     Now, 

huzza  ! 

Eliza  Cook. 


INNOCENT   PLAY. 

Abroad   in   the   meadows   to  see   the 

young  lambs 
Run   sporting   about   by   the   side   of 

their  dams. 
With  fleeces  so  clean  and  so  white  ; 
Or  a  nest  of  young  doves  in  a  large 

open  cage. 
When   they  play  all  in  love  without 

anger  or  rage. 
How  much  we  may  learn  from  the 

si^ht  I 


If  we  had  been  ducks  we  might  dabble 
in  mud. 

Or  dogs,  we  might  play  till  it  ended 
in  blood — 
So  foul  and  so  fierce  are  their  natures  ; 

But   Thomas   and   Wilham,   and   such 
jiretty  names, 

Should  be  cleanly  and  harmless  as  doves 
or  as  lambs. 
Those  lovely,  sweet,  innocent  crea- 
tures. 

Not  a  thing  do  we  do,  nor  a  word  that 

we  say 
Should    hinder   another   in   jesting   or 
play. 
For  he's  still  in  earnest  that's  hurt ; 
How   rude   are   the   boys   that   throw 

pebbles  and  mire  ! 
There's  none  but  a  madman  will  fling 
about  fire. 
And  tell  you,  "  'Tis  all  but  in  sport" 

Isaac  Watts. 


PEAISE    FOR    MEBCIES 
SPIRITTJAIi   AND    TEMPORAL. 

Whene'er  I  take  my  walks  abroad 

How  many  poor  I  see  ; 
What  shall  I  render  to  my  God 

For  all  His  gifts  to  me  ? 

Not  more  than  others  I  deserve. 
Yet  God  has  given  me  more  ; 

For  I  have  food,  while  others  starve. 
Or  beg  from  door  to  door. 

How  many  children  in  the  street 

Half-naked  I  behold  ; 
While  I  am  cloth'd  from  head  to  feet, 

And  cover'd  from  the  cold. 

While  some  poor  wretches  scarce  can 
tell 

Where  they  may  lay  their  head, 
I  have  a  home  wherein  to  dwell. 

And  re^^t  upon  my  bed. 

While  others  early   earn  to  swear, 
And  curse  and  lie  and  steal. 

Lord,  I  am  taught  Thy  name  to  fear. 
And  do  Thy  holy  will. 


32 


Poems  for  Children. 


Are  these  Thy  favours,  day  by  day, 

To  me  above  the  rest  ? 
Tlien  let  me  love  Thee  more  than  they, 

And  try  to  serve  Thee  best. 

Isaac  Watts. 


liOVE    BETWEEN    BBOTHEBS 
AND    SISTEKS. 

Whatever  brawls  disturb  the  street, 
There  should  be  peace  at  home  ; 

Where  siste  s  dwell,  and  brothers  meet. 
Quarrels  should  never  come. 

Birds  in  their  Uttle  nests  agree ; 

And  'tis  a  shameful  sight, 
When  children  of  one  family 

Fall  out  and  chide  and  fight. 

Hard  names  at  fii'st,  and  threat'ning 
words 

That  are  but  noisy  breath 
May  grow  to  clubs  and  naked  swords. 

To  murder  and  to  death. 

The  devil  tempts  one  mother's  son 

To  rage  against  another  ; 
So  wicked  Cain  was  hurried  on 

Till  he  had  kill'd  his  brother. 

The  wise  will  make  their  anger  cool. 
At  least  before  'tis  night ; 

But  in  the  bojom  of  a  fool 
It  burns  till  morning-light. 

Pardon,  0  Lord,  our  childish  rage. 

Our  httle  brawls  remove. 
That  as  we  grow  to  riper  age 

Our  heart?  may  all  be  love. 

laaac  Watts. 


So  clear,  so  bright,  our  fathers  said 
He  wears  a  jewel  in  his  head  ! 
And  when,  upon  some  showery  day, 
Into  a  path  or  public  way, 
A  frog  leaps  out  from  bordering  grass 
Starthng  the  timid  as  they  pass. 
Do  you  observe  him,  and  endeavour 
To  take  the  intruder  into  favour ; 
Learning  from  him  to  find  a  reason 
For  a  light  heart  in  a  dull  season. 
And    you    may    love    the    strawberry 

flower, 
And  love  the  strawberry  in  its  bower  : 
But  when  the  fruit,  so  often  praised 
For  beauty,  to  your  lip  is  raised. 
Say  not  you  love  the  delicate  treat. 
But  like  it,  enjoy  it,  and  thankfully  eat. 

Dorothy  Wordsworth. 


THE    COTTAGER   TO   HEB 

INFANT. 

The  days  are  cold,  the  nights  are  long, 
Tlie  north- wind  sings  a  doleful  song  ; 
Then  hush  again  upon  my  breast ; 
All  merry  things  are  now  at  rest, 
Save  thee,  my  pretty  Love  ! 

The  kitten  sleeps  upon  the  hearth ; 
The   crickets   long   have   ceased   their 

mirth ; 
There's  nothing  stirring  in  the  house 
Save  one  wee,  hungry,  nibbhng  mouse 
Then  why  so  busy  thou  ? 

Nay  !  start  not  at  that  sparkling  light ; 
'Tis  but  the  moon  that  shines  so  bright 
On  the  window-pane  bedropped  with 

rain  : 
Then,  little  Darhng,  sleep  again, 
And  wake  when  it  is  day  ! 


Dorothy  Wordsworth. 


LOVINQ    AND    LIKING. 

ADDRESSED   TO   A   CHILD. 

Say  not  you  love  a  roasted  fowl, 
But  you  may  love  a  screaming  owl, 
And,  if  you  can,  the  unwieldy  toad 
That  crawls  from  his  seciu-e  abode. 
Within  the  grassy  garden  wall. 
When  evening  dews  begin  t  >  fall. 
Oh  !  mark  the  beauty  of  his  eye 
What  wonders  in  that  circle  Ue  1 


ADDBESS    TO   A    CHILD 

DUBING         A         BOISTEBOITS 

WINTEB    EVENING. 

What    waj'    does    the    Wind    come  ? 

What  way  does  he  go  ? 
He  rides  over  the  water,  and  over  the 

sno\^', 
Through  wood,  and  through  vale  ;  and 

o'er  rocky  height, 
Whic  1  the  goat  cannot  cUmb,  takes  his 

sounding  fliglit ; 


r 


Rhymes  for  Little  Ones. 


33 


He  tosses  about  in  every  bare  tree, 
As,  if  you  Kiok  up,  you  plainly  may  see  : 
But  how  he  will  come,  and  whither  he 

goes. 
There's    never   a   scholar   in   England 

knows. 


He   will  suddenly  stop  in  a   cunning 

nook. 
And  rings  a  sharp  'laruni  ;    but,  if  you 

should  look. 
There's  nothing  to  see  but  a  cushion 

of  snow 
Round  as  a  pillow,   and  whiter  than 

milk, 
Aiul  softer  than  if  it  were  covered  with 

silk. 
Sometimes  he'll  hide  in  the  cave  of  a 

rock, 
'J'lien  whistle  as  shriU  as  the  buzzard 

eock. 
Yet  seek   him, — and   what   shall   you 

find  in  his  place  ? 
Nothing  but  silence  and  empty  space  ; 
Save,  in  a  corner,  a  heap  of  dry  leaves, 
That  he's  left,  for  a  bed,  to  beggars 

or  thieves  ! 

As  soon   as   'tis  d  ylight,   to-morrow, 

with  me 
You  shall  go  to  the  orcliard,  and  then 

you  will  see 
That  he  has  been  there,  and  made  a 

great  rout. 
And  cracked  the  branches,  and  strewn 

them  about : 
Heaven  grant  that  he  spare  but  that 

one  upright  twig 
That  looked  up  at  the  sky  so  proud 

and  big. 
All  last  summer,  as  well  you  know. 
Studded  with  ajjples,  a  beautiful  show  I 

Hark  !  over  the  roof  he  makes  a  pause. 
And  growls  as  if  he  would  fix  his  claws 
Right  in  the  slates,  and  with  a  huge 

rattle 
Drive  them  down,  like  men  in  a  battle  : 
But  let  liim  range  round  ;  he  does  us 

no  harm. 
We  build  up  the  fire,  we're  snug  and 

warm  ; 
Untouched    by    his    breath,    se  •    the 

candle  shines  bright. 
And   burns   with   a  clear   and   steady 

Ught ; 


Books  have  we  to  read, — but  that  half- 

stiilcd  knell, 
Alas  !  'tis  the  sound  of  the  eight  o'clock 

bell. 

Come,  now  we'll  to  bed  !  and  when  we 

are  there 
He  may  work  his  own  will,  and  what 

shall  we  care  ? 
He  may  knock  at  the  door, — we'll  not 

let  him   in ; 
May     drive     at    the    windows, — we'll 

laugh  at  his  din : 
Let  him  seek  his  own  home,  wherever 

it  be  ; 
Here's  a  cozie  warm  house  for  Edward 

antl  me. 

Dorothy   Wordsworth. 


BIG  AND  LITTLE  THINGS. 

I  CANNOT  do  the  big  things 

That  I  should  like  to  do, 
To  make  the  earth  for  ever  fair. 

The  sky  for  ever  blue. 
But  I  can  do  the  small  things 

That  I.elp  to  make  it  sweet ; 
Tho'  clouds  arise  and  fill  the  skies. 

And  tempests  beat. 

I  cannot  stay  the  rain-drops 
That  tumble  from  the  skies  ; 

But  I  can  wipe  the  tears  away 
From  baby's  pretty  eyes. 

I  cannot  make  the  sun  shine, 
Or  warm  the  winter  bleak  ; 

But  I  can  make  the  summer  come 
On  sister's  rosy  cheek. 

I  carmot  stay  the  storm  clouds. 
Or  drive  them  from  their  place  ; 

But  I  can  clear  the  clouds  away 
From  brother's  troubled  face. 

I  cannot  make  the  com  grow. 
Or  work  upon  the  land  ; 

But  I  can  put  new  strength  and  will 
In  father's  busy  hand. 

1  cannot  stay  the  east  wind. 

Or  thaw  its  icy  smart ; 
But  I  can  keep  a  corner  warm 

In  mother's  loving  heart. 


fe 


34 


Poems  for  Children. 


I  cannot  do  the  big  things 

That  I  should  hke  to  do, 
To  make  the  earth  for  ever  fair. 

The  sky  for  ever  blue. 
But  I  can  do  the  small  things 

Tha"  help  to  make  it  sweet ; 
Tho'  clouds  arise  and  fill  the  skies 

And  tempests  beat. 

Alfred  H.  Miles. 


THE  SHADOWS. 

Mamma. 

The  candles  are  lighted,  the  fire  blazes 
bright, 
The  curtains  are  drawn  to  keep  out 
the  cold  air  ; 
What  makes  you  so  grave,  little  dar- 
ling to-night  ? 
And  where  is  your  smile,  little  quiet 
one,  where  ? 

Child. 

Mamma,  I  see  something  so  dark  on 
the  wall. 
It  moves  up  and  down,  and  it  looks 
very  strange  ; 
Sometimes  it  is  large,  and  sometimes 
it  is  small ; 
Pray,  tell  me  what  it  is,  and  why 
does  it  change  ? 

Mamma 

It  is  mamma's  shadow  that  puzzles  yovi 
so, 
And  there  is  your  own,  close  beside 
it,  my  love  ; 
Now  run  round  the  room,  it  will  go 
where  you  go  ; 
When  you  sit  'twill  be  still,   when 
you  rise  it  will  move. 

Child. 

I  don't  like  to  see  it ;    do  please  let 
me  ring 
For  Betsy  to  take  all  the  shadows 
away. 

Mamma. 

No ;   Betsy  oft  carries  a  heavier  thing. 
But  she  could  not  lift  this,  should 
she  try  the  whole  day. 


These  wonderful  shadows  are  caused 
by  the  hght 
From  fire,  and  from  candles,  upon 
us  that  falls  ; 
Were  we  not  sitting  here,  all  that  place 
would  be  bright, 
But  the  candle  can't  shine  through 
us,  you  know,  on  the  walls. 

And,  when  you  are  out  some  fine  day 
in  the  sun, 
I'll  take  you  where  shadows  of  apple- 
trees  he  ; 
And  houses  and  cottages  too, — every 
one 
Casts    a    shadow    when    the    sun's 
shining  bright  in  the  sky. 

Now  hold  up  your  mouth  and  give  me 
a  sweet  kiss  ; 
Our  shadows  kiss  too  !  don't  you  see 
it  quite  plain  ! 

Child. 

Oh,  yes  !  and  I  thank  you  for  telling 
me  this  ; 
I'll  not  be  afraid  of  a  shadow  again. 

Mary  Lundie  Duncan. 


ENVY. 

This  rose-tree  is  not  made  to  bear 
The  violet  blue,  nor  lily  fair. 

Nor  the  sweet  mignonette. 
And  if  this  tree  were  discontent. 
Or  wished  to  change  its  natural  bcTit, 

It  all  in  vain  would  fret. 

And  should  it  fret,  you  would  suppose 
It  ne'er  had  seen  its  own  red  rose. 

Nor  after  gentle  shower 
Had  ever  smelled  its  rose's  scent. 
Or  it  could  ne'er  be  discontent 

With  its  own  pretty  flower. 

Like  such  a  blind  and  senseless  tree 
As  I've  imagined  this  to  be. 

All  envious  persons   are. 
With  care  and  culture  all  may  find 
Some  pretty  flower  in  their  own  mind, 

Some  talent  that  is  rare. 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamb. 


Rhymes  for  Little   Ones. 


35 


ANGER. 

Anger  in  its  time  and  place 
May  assume  a  kind  of  grace. 
It  must  have  some  reason  in  it. 
And  not  last  beyond  a  minute. 
If  to  furtlier  lengtlis  it  go, 
It  does  into  malice  grow. 
'Tis  the  dilference  that  we  see 
'Twixt  the  serpent  and  the  bee. 
If  the  latter  you  provoke. 
It  inflicts  a  hasty  stroke, 
Puts  j^ou  to  some  httle  pain. 
But  it  never  stings  again. 
Close  in  tufted  bush  or  brake 
Lurks  the  poison-swelled  snake 
Nursing  up  his  cherished  wrath  ; 
In  the  jDurlieus  of  his  path, 
In  the  cold,  or  in  the  warm. 
Mean  him  good,  or  mean  him  harm, 
Wheresoever  fate  may  bring  you, 
The  vile  snake  will  aliuays  sting  you. 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamh. 


THE   SLTrGGARD. 

'Tis  the  voice  of  a  sluggard  ;    I  heard 

him  complain, 
"  You    have    waked    me   too   soon ;    I 

must  slumber  again  "  ; 
As  the  door  on  its  hinges,  so  he  on  his 

bed 
'J'urns  his  sides,  and  his  shoulders,  ami 

his  heavy  head. 

"  A  little  more  sleep  and  a  little  more 

slumber  "  ; 
'I'liiis  he  wastes  half  his  days,  and  his 

liours  without  number  ; 
Ami  when  he  gets  up  he  sits  folding 

liis  hands 
Or  walks  about  saunt'ring,  or  trifling 

he  stands. 

I  pass'd  by  his  garden,  and  saw  the 
wild  brier 

The  thorn  and  the  thistle  grow  broader 
;'nd  higiicr  ; 

The  clothes  that  hang  on  him  are  turn- 
ing to  rags  ; 

And  his  money  still  wastes  till  he 
starves  or  he  begs. 


I  made  him  a  visit,  still  hoping  to  find. 

That  ho  took  better  care  for  improving 
his  mind  ; 

He  told  me  his  dreams,  talk'd  of  eat- 
ing and  drinking  : 

But  he  scarce  reads  his  Bible,  and  never 
loves  thinking. 

Said  I  then  to  my  heart,  "  Here's  a 
lesson  for  me  "  ; 

That  man's  but  a  picture  of  what  I 
might  be  ; 

But  thanks  to  my  friends  for  their  care 
in  my  breeding, 

Who  taught  me  betimes  to  love  work- 
ing and  reading. 

Isaac  Watts. 


^-^ITTIiE    RAIN-DROPS. 

Oh  !  Avhere  do  you  come  from 
You  little  drops  of  rain  ; 

Fitter  patter,  pitter  patter 
Down  the  window-pane  ? 

They  won't  let  me  walk, 
And  they  won't  let  me  play, 

And  they  won't  let  me  go 
Out  of  doors  at  all  to-day. 

They  put  away  my  playthings 
Because  I  broke  them  all. 

And  they  locked  up  all  my  brick*, 
And  took  away  my  ball. 

Tell  me,  little  rain-drops, 
Is  that  the  way  you  play, 

Pitter  patter,  pitter  patter. 
All  the  rainy  day  ? 

They  say  I'm  very  naughty, 
But  I've  nothing  else  to  do 

But  sit  here  at  the  window ; 
I  should  like  to  play  with  you. 

The  little  rain-drops  cannot  speak. 
But  "  pitter,  patter,  pat," 

Means,  "  A\'e  can  play  on  this  side. 
Why  can't  you  play  on  that  ?  " 

Mrs.  Hawkshawt. 


36 


Poems  for  Children. 


TBY  AGAIN. 

'Tis  a  lesson  you  should  heed. 

Try  again  ; 
If  at  first  you  don't  succeed. 

Try  again  ; 
Then  your  courage  should  appear. 
For  if  you  will  persevere. 
You  will  conquer,  never  fear. 

Try  again. 

Once  or  twice,  though  you  should  fail. 

Try  again ; 
If  you  would  at  last  prevail. 

Try  again ; 
If  we  strive,  'tis  no  disgrace 
Though  we  do  not  win  the  race  ; 
What  should  we  do  in  that  case  ? 

Try  again. 

If  you  find  your  task  is  hard. 

Try  again  ; 
Time  will  bring  you  your  reward, 

Try  again  ; 
All  that  other  folk  can  do. 
Why,  with  patience,  may  not  you  ? 
Only  keep  this  rule  in  view. 

Try  again. 

William  Edward  Hickson. 


KING  BKUCE  AND  THE 
SPIDER. 

King  Brtjce  of  Scotland  flung  himself 
down 
1 1   .  lonely  mood  to  think  ; 
'Tis  true  he  was  monarch,  and  wore  a 
crown, 
But  his  heart  was  beginn  ng  to  sink. 

For  1  e  had  been  trying  to  do  a  great 
de  d, 
To  make  his  people  glad  ; 
He  had  tried,  and  tried,  but  couldn't 
succee  1  ; 
And  so  he  became  quite  sad. 

He  flnng  himself  down  in  low  despair, 
As  grieved  as  man  could  be  ; 

And  after  a  while  as  he  pondered  there, 
"  I'U  give  it  all  up,"  said  he. 


Now   just   at   that   moment   a   spider 
dropp'd 
With  its  silken  cobweb  clue  ; 
And  the  king  in  the  midst  of  his  think- 
ing stopp'd 
To  see  what  that  spider  would  do. 

'Twas  a  long  way  up  to  the  cei  ing  dome, 
And  it  hung  by  a  rope  so  fine  ; 

That  how  it  would  get  to  its  cobweb 
home 
King  Bruce  could  not  divine. 

It  soon  began  to  cling  and  crawl 

Straight  up  with  strong  endeavour  ; 

But   down   it   came    with   a   slippery 
sprawl. 
As  near  the  ground  as  ever. 

Up,  up  it  ran,  not  a  second  it  stay'd 
To  litter  the  least  complaint ; 

Til  it  fell  still  lower,  and  there  it  laid, 
A  little  dizzy  and  faint. 

It ;  head  grew  steady — again  it  went. 
And  travell'd  a  half-yard  higher  ; 

Twas  a  delicate  thread  it  had  to  tread, 
A  road  where  its  feet  would  tire. 

Again  it  fell  and  swung  below. 
But  again  it  quickly  mounted  : 

Till  up  and  down,  now  fast,  now  slow. 
Nine  brave  attempts  were  counted. 

"  Sure,"  cried  the  King,  "  that  foolish 
thing 
W^il    strive  no  more  to  climb  ; 
When  it  toils  so  hard   to  reach  and 
cling, 
A  d  tumbles  every  time." 

But  up  the  insect  went  once  more, 
Ah  me  !  'tis  an  anxious  minute  ; 

He's  only  a  foot  from  his  cobweb  door, 
Oh,  say  will  he  lose  or  win  it  ! 

Steadily,  steadily,  inch  by  inch 

Higher  and  higher  he  got ; 
And  a  bold  httle  run  at  the  very  last 
pinch 

Put  him  into  his  native  cot. 

"  Bravo,  bravo  !  "  the  King  cried  out, 
"  All  honour  to  those  why  tri/ ; 

The  spider  up  there  defied  despiir; 
He  conquei'd,  and  why  shouldn't  I  ?  " 


Rhymes  for  Little   Ones. 


37 


And  Bruce  of  Scotland  braced  his  mind. 

And  gossips  tell  the  tale. 
That  lie  tried  once  more  as  he  tried 
before, 

And  that  time  did  not  fail. 

Pay  goodly  heed,  all  ye  who  read. 
And  beware  of  saying,  "  I  can't ;  " 

'Tis  a  cowardly  word,  and  apt  to  !ead 
To  Idleness,  Folly,  nnd  Want. 

Whenever  you  find  your  heart  despair 
Of  doing  some  goodly  thing  ; 

Con  over  this  strain,  try  bravely  asain, 
And  remember  the  Spider  and  King 

Eliza  Cook. 


LITTLE   THINGS. 
Little  chops  of  water, 

IJttle  grains  of  sand. 
Make  the  mitjhty  ocean 

And  the  pleasant  land. 

Thus  the  little  minutes, 
Humble  though  they  be. 

Make  the  mighty  ages 
Of  eternity. 

Thus  our  little  errors 

Lead  the  soul  away 
From  the  path  of  virtue, 

Far  in  sin  to  stray. 

Little  deeds  of  kindness. 

Little  words  cf  love. 
Make  our  earth  an  Eden, 

Like  the  heaven  above. 

Little  eeed^  of  mercy, 
Sowna  b     youthful  hands. 

Grow  to  bless  the  nations 
Far  in  heathen  lands. 

Dr.  Ebenezer  Oohlmm  Brewer. 


THE  LITTLE  SISTER  LEFT  IN 
CHARGE. 

Sleep,   little   brother,   you    must   not 
awaken 
Till  mother  comes  back  to  her  baby 
again  : 
Weary,    nd  long  is  the  way  she  has 
taken. 
Over  the  common,  and  through  the 
green  glen. 


Up  the  steep  hill  by  the  path  that  is 
nearest, 
Thinking  of  you  as  she  hurries  along  : 
Sleep,    then,    and    dream    that    she's 
watching  you,  clearest. 
Rocking  your  cradle,  and  singing  her 
song. 

In  the  still  room  there's  no  sound  to 
disquiet, 
Only  I  he  clock  tick  ng  even,  and  low. 
Only  the  bird  in  his  cage  hanging  by  it. 
Chirping  a  note  as  he  hops  toandfio. 
Out  in  the  sunlight  the  woodbine  is 
Stirling, 
Filling  the  air  with  its  fragrance  so 
sweet. 
On   the   low  window   seat   pussy   sits 
piuring. 
Washing  her  face  with  her  little  white 
feet. 

Far  down   the  lane  merry  voices   are 
ringing, 
Comrades  have  beckoned  me  out  to 
their  play. 
Why  did  y  u  start  ?     it  is  I  that  am 
singing  ; 
Why  did  you  frown  ?     I'm  not  going 
awa  . 
Could  I  forsake  you  for  play,  or  for 
pleasure. 
Lying    alone    in    your    helplessness 
here  ? 
How  could  I  leave  you,  my  own  little 
treasure. 
No  one  tj  rock  you,  and  no  one  to 
cheer  ? 

In  the  room  corners  I  watch  tl.e  dark 
shadows. 
Deepening,  and  lengthening,  as  even- 
ing come 3  on  ; 
Soon  will  the  mowers  return  from  the 
meadows  ; 
Far  to  the  westward  the  red  sun  is 
gone. 
B}'  the  green  hedgerow  I  see  her  now 
comin  /, 
Where  the  last  sunbeam  is  just  on 
her  track ; 
Still  I  sit  by  you,  love,  drowsily  hum- 
ming. 
Sleep,  little  baby,  till  mother  comes 
back. 

Mrs.  Cecil  Frances  Alexander. 


38 


Poems  for  Children. 


THE    cow    AND    THE    ASS. 

Beside  a  green  meadow  a  stream  used 
to  flow. 

So  clear,  you  might  see  the  white 
pebbles  below. 

To  this  cooling  brook  the  warm  cattle 
would  stray, 

To  stand  in  the  shade,  on  a  hot  sum- 
mer's day. 

A  cow,  quite  oppressed  by  the  heat  of 

the  sun. 
Came  here  to  refresh,  as  she  often  had 

done  ; 
And,  standing  quite  still,  stooping  over 

the  stream. 
Was  musing,  perhaps  ;   or  perhaps  she 

might  dream. 

But  soon  a   brown  ass  of  respectable 

look 
Came  trotting  up  also,  to  taste  of  the 

brook. 
And  to  nibble  a  few  of  the  daisies  and 

grass : 
"  How    d'ye    do  ?  "    sai  i    the  Cow. — 

"  How  d'ye  do  ?  "  said  the  Ass. 

"  Take  a  seat !"  said  the  Cow,  gently 
waving  her  hand. 

"  By  no  means,  dear  Madam,"  said  he, 
"  while  you  stand  !  " 

Then,  stooping  to  drink  with  a  com- 
plaisant bow, 

"  Ma'am,  your  health  !  "  said  the  Ass. 
"  Thank  you.  Sir  !  "  said  the  Cow. 

When  a  few  of  these  compDments  more 

had  been  passed, 
They    laid    themselves    down    on    the 

herbage  at  last ; 
And    waiting    politely — as    gentlemen 

must — 
The  ass  held  his  tongue,  that  the  cow 

might  speak  first. 

Then  with  a  deep  sigh,   she  directly 

began : 
"  Don't  you   think,   ]Mr.   Ass,   we  are 

injured  by  man  ? 
*Tis  a  subject  which  lies  with  a  weight 

on  my  mind  : 
We   really   are   greatly   oppressed    by 

mankind. 


"  Pray  what  is  the  reason — I  see  none 

at  all — 
That   I    always    must   go   when   Suke 

chooses  to  call  ? 
Whatever    I'm    doing — 'tis    certainly 

hard  ! — 
I'm  forced  to  leave  off  to  be  milked 

in  the  yard. 

"  I've  no  will  of  my  own,  but  must  do 

as  they  please. 
And  give  them  my  milk  to  make  butter 

and  cheese  : 
I've  often  a  great  mind  to  kick  down 

the  pail, 
Or  give  Suke  a  box  on  the  ear  with  my 

tail !  " 

"  But,    Ma'am,"    said    the  Ass,    "  not 

presuming  to  teach — 
Oh  dear  !   I   beg  pardon — pray  finish 

your  speech : 
I  thought  you  had  finished,  indeed," 

said   the  Swain  ; 
"  Go   on,   and   I'll   not  interrupt  you 

again." 

"  Why,  Sir,  I  was  just  then  about  to 

observe, 
I'm    resolved    that   these    tyrants   no 

longer  I'U  serve  ; 
But  leave  them  for  ever  to  do  as  they 

please. 
And    look    somewhere    else    for    tlieir 

butter  and  cheese." 

Ass  waited  a  moment  to  see  if  she'd 

done. 
And  then,  "  Not  presuming  to  teach," 

he  begun, 
*'  With   submission,    dear   Madam,    to 

your  better  wit, 
I  own  I  am  not  quite  convinced  by 

it  yet. 

"  That  you're  of  great  service  to  them 

is  quite  true. 
But  surely  they  are  of  some  service  to 

you; 
'Tis  their  pleasant  meadow  in  which 

you  regale, 
They  feed  you  in  winter  when  grass 

and  weeds  fail. 

"  And  tlien  a  warm  covert  they  always 

provide, 
Dear  Madam,  to  shelter  your  delicate 

hide. 


Rhymes  for  Little  Ones. 


39 


For  my  oivn  part,  I  know  I  receive  much 

from  man, 
And  for  him,  in  return,  I  do  all  I  can." 

The  cow,  upon  this,  cast  her  eyes  on 

the  grass. 
Not  pleased  at  thus  being  reproved  by 

an  ass  ; 
"  Yet,"  thought  she,  "  I'm  determined 

I'll  benefit  by  't ; 
I    reallv    believe    that    the    feUow    is 

right'l  " 

Jane  Taylor. 


BEASTS,  BIRDS  AND  FISHES 

The  Dog  will  come  when  he  is  called. 

The  Cat  will  walk  away  ; 
The  ^Monkey's  cheek  is  very  bald  ; 

The  Goat  is  full  of  play. 
The  Parrot  is  a  prate-apace. 

Yet  knows  not  what  he  says  ; 
The  noble  horse  will  win  the  race, 

Or  draw  you  in  a  chaise. 

The  Pig  is  not  a  feeder  nice, 

The  Squirrel  loves  a  nut ; 
The  Wolf  would  eat  you  in  a  trice. 

The  Buzzard's  eyes  are  shut. 
The  Lark  sings  high  up  in  the  air. 

The  Linnet  in  the  tree  ; 
The  Swan  he  has  a  bosom  fair. 

And  who  so  proud  as  he  ? 

Oh,  yes,  the  Peacock  is  more  proud. 

Because  his  tail  has  eyes. 
The  Lion  roars  so  very  loud. 

He'd  1  II  you  with  surprise. 
The  Raven's  coat  is  shining  black. 

Or,   rather,    raven-grey. 
The  Camel's  hump  is  on  his  back. 

The  Owl  abhors  the  day. 

The  Sparrow  steals  the  cherry  ripe. 

The  Elephant  is  wise  ; 
The  Blackbird  charms  you  with  his  ;  ipe. 

The  false  Hyena  cries. 
The  Hen  guards  Avell  her  little  chicks. 

The  useful  Cow  is  meek  ; 
The    Beaver    builds    with    mud    and 
sticks  ; 

The  Lap-win  z  loves  to  squeak. 


The  little  Wren  is  very  small. 

The  Humming-bird  is  less  ; 
The  Lady-bird  is  least  of  all, 

And  beautiful  in  dress. 
The  Pelican,  she  loves  her  you  g  ; 

The  Stork,  his  father  loves  ; 
The  Woodcock's  bill  is  very  long. 

And  innocent  are  Doves. 

The  spotted  Tiger's  fond  of  blood. 

The  Pigeons  feed  on  peas  ; 
The  Duck  will  gobble  in  the  mud, 

The  Mice  will  eat  your  cheese. 
A   Lobster's   black,   when   boil'd   he's 
red  ; 

The  harmless  Lamb  must  bleed  ; 
The  CodGsh  has  a  clumsy  head. 

The  Goose  on  grass  will  feed. 

The  lady  in  her  gown  of  silk 

The  little  Worm  may  thank  ; 
The  rich  man  drinks  the  Ass's  milk  ; 

The  Weasel's  long  and  lank 
The  Buck  gives  us  a  ven'son  dish, 

When  hunted  for  the  spoil ; 
The  Shark  eats  up  the  little  fish  ; 

The  Whale  produces  oil. 

The    Glow-worm    shines    the    darkest 
night. 

With  lantern  in  his  tail ; 
The  Turtle  is  the  cit's  delight — 

It  wears  a  coat  of  mail. 
In  Germany  they  hunt  the  Boar, 

The  Bee  brings  honey  home  ; 
The  Ant  lays  up  a  winter  store ; 

The  Bear  loves  honey-comb. 

The  Eagle  has  a  crooked  beak. 

The  Plaice  has  orange  spots  ; 
The  Starling,  if  he's  taught,  will  speak  ; 

The  Ostrich  walks  and  trots. 
The  child   that  does  not  linow  these 
things 

May  yet  be  called  a  dunce  ; 
But  I  will  up  in  knowledge  grow, 

As  youth  can  come  but  once. 

Adelaide  O'Keeffe. 


THE  NEGRO. 

Why  should   my  darling  quake   with 

fear,  ^ 

Because  she  sees  a  hegro  here  ? 
God  takes,  my  love,  the  same  delight 
In  all  His  creatiures,  black  or  whitj. 


40 


Poems  for  Children. 


Thousands  in  distant  foreign  lands, 
Like  him  who  now  be! ore  you  stands, 
Are  found  as  dark,  and  they  would  stare 
To  see  a  human  being  fair. 

A  black  may  yet  be  white  within, 
May  have  a  conscience  free  from  sin  ; 
Nay,  1  e  may  have,  although  a  slave, 
A  heart  that's  faithful,  kind,  and  brave. 

I  wish  that  all  could  boast  the  same, 
Who  his  appearance  fear,  or  blame  ; 
For  those  who  worth  and  virtue  lack, 
Though  white  without,  within  are  black. 

Mary  EUiott. 


The  Acorn,  buried  in  the  earth. 
When  many  years  are  past 

Becomes  tLe  oak  of  matchless  worth, 
Whose  strength  will  ages  last. 

In  Summer,  pleasant  is  its  s'jade. 

But  greater  far  its  use  ; 
The  wood  which  forms  our  ships  for 
trade 

Its  body  can  jroduce. 

And  many  other  things  beside, 

I  cannot  now  explain ; 
For  where  its  merits  l.ave  been  tried. 

They  were  not  tried  in  vain. 

Mary  Elliott. 


THE    BIBD-CATCHER. 

The  cat's  at  the  window,  and  Shock's 
at  the  door  ; 
The  pussy-cat  mews,  and  the  little 
dog  barks ; 
For  see  !  such  a  sight  as  I  ne'er  saw 
before — 
A  boy  with  a  cage  full  of  linnets  and 
larks  ! 

And    pussy    the    way    how    to    catch 
them  is  seeking. 
To    kill    them,    and    spoil    all    their 
singing,  poor  things  ! 
For  singing  to  them  is  like  little    boys 
speaking. 
But  fear   makes   them   chirrup   and 
flutter  their  wings. 

Do  not  fear,   pretty   birds  !   for  puss 
shall  not  eat  you ; 
Go,  go,  naughty  pussy  !  away  out  of 
sight. 
With    crumbs    of    good    bread,    pretty 
birds  !  we  will  treat  you, 
And  give  you  fresh  water  both  morn- 
ing and  night. 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  Turner. 


THE   CROCTTS. 

Matilda,  cojne  hither,  I  pray. 

There  is  something  peeps  out  of  the 
snow  ; 
It  is  yellow,  and  looks,  I  should  say. 

Like  a  bud  that  is  ready  to  blow. 

But  surely,  in  weather  so  cold. 

It  could  not  siirvive  half  an  hour ; 

Little  bud,  yoii  must  be  very  bold 
To  expect  at  this  season  to  flower. 

Yet  this  bold  little  bud  which  you  see. 
Though  expos'd  to  the  keen,  frosty 
air. 

Will  still  keep  its  yellow  head  free. 
And  bloom  without  trouble  or  care. 

To  our  thanks  it  has  surely  a  claim  ; 

I  rejoice  when  I  see  it  appear ; 
The  kind  Ceocus,  for  that  is  its  name. 

Announces  that  springtime  is  near. 

Mary  Elliott. 


THE   OAK. 

Observe,    dear    George,    this   nut   so 
small ; 

The  Acorn  is  its  name  ; 
Would  'iou  suppose  yon  tree  so  tall 

From  such  a  trifle  came  ? 


THE  ROSE. 

How  fair  is  the  Rose  !  what  a  beautiful 
tiower  ! 
The  glory  of  April  and  May  ! 
But  the  leaves  are  beginning  to  fade 
in  an  hour. 
And  they  wither  and  die  in  a  day. 


Rhymes  for  Little  Ones. 


41 


Yet     1  e  Rose  has  a  powerful   virtue 
to  boast, 
Above  all  the  flowers  of  the  field  ; 
When  its  leaves  a  e  all  dead,  and  fine 
colours  are  lost. 
Still   how   sweet  a   perfume   it   will 
yield  ! 

So  frail  is  the  youth  and  the  beauty 
of  men, 
Though   they   bloom   and  look   gay 
like  the  Kose  ; 
But  all  our  fond  care  to  preserve  them 
is  vain  ; 
Time  kills  them  as  fast  as  he  goes. 

Then  I'll  not  be  proud  of  my  youth 
or  my  beauty. 
Since  both  of  them  wither  and  fade  ; 
But  gain  a  good  name  by^  well  do  ng 
my  duty  ; 
This  will  scent  like  a  Rose  when  I'm 
dead. 

Isaac  Waits. 


THE    VIIiliAG-E    GREEIT. 

On  the  cheerful  Village  Green, 
Scattered  round  with  houses  neat. 

All  the  boys  and  girls  are  seen, 
Playing  there  with  busy  feet. 

Now  they  frolic  hand  in  hand, 
ilaking  many  a  merry  chain  ; 

Then  they  form  a  warlike  band. 
Marching  o'er  the  level  plain. 

Now  ascends  the  worsted  ball ; 

High  it  rises  in  the  air  ; 
Or  against  the  cottage  wall 

Up  and  down  it  bounces  there. 

Or  the  hoop,  with  even  pace, 
Runs  before  the  merry  crowd  ; 

Joy  is  seen  iu  every  face, 

Joy  is  heard  in  clamours  loud. 

For  among  the  rich  or  gay. 

Fine,  and  grand,  and  decked  in  lores. 
None  appear  more  glad  than  they. 

With  happier  hearts  or  happier  faces. 

Then,  contented  with  my  state. 
Let  me  envy  not  the  great. 

Since  true  pleasure  may  be  seen 
On  a  cheerful  Village  Green. 

Jane  Taylor. 


THE    FARM. 

Bright  glows  the  east  with  blushing 

red. 
While  yet  upon  their  -wholesome  bed 

The  sleeping  labourers  rest ; 
And  the  pale  moon  and  silver  star- 
Grow  paler  still,  and  wandering  far. 

Sink  slowly  to  the  west. 

And  see  behind  the  sloping  hill. 
The  morning  clouds  grow  brighter  still, 

And  all  the  shades  retire  ; 
Slowly  the  sun  with  golden  ray. 
Breaks  forth  above  tlie  horizon  grey. 

And  gilds  the  distant  spire. 

And  now,  at  Nature's  cheerful  voice. 
The  hills,  and  vales,  and  woods  rejoice. 

The  lark  ascends  the  skies  ; 
And  soon  the  cock's  shrill  notes  alarm 
The  sleeping  people  at  the  farm. 

And  bid  them  all  arise. 

Then  at  the  dairy's  cool  retreat. 
The  busy  maids  together  meet ; 

The  careful  mistress  sees 
Some  tend  Avith  skilful  hand  the  churns. 
While  the  thick  cream  to  butter  turns. 

And  some  the  curdling  cheese. 

And  now  comes  Thomas  from  the  house, 
With  well-known  cry,  to  call  the  cows, 

Still  sleeping  on  the  plain  : 
They  quickly  rising,  one  and  all. 
Obedient  to  their  daily  call, 

Wind  slowly  through  the  lane. 

And  see  the  rosy  milkmaid  now. 
Seated  beside  the  horned  cow. 

With  milking  stool  and  pail ; 
The  patient  cow  with  dappled  hide 
Stands  still,  unless  to  lash  her  side 

With  her  convenient  tail. 

And  then  the  poultry  (Mary's  charge). 
Must  all  be  fed  and  let  at  large. 

To  roam  about  again  ; 
Wide  open  swings  the  great  barn-door. 
And  out  the  hungry  creatures  pour. 

To  pick  the  scattered  grain. 

Forth  plodding  to  the  heavy  plough. 
The  sun-burnt  labourer  hastens  now. 

To  guide  with  skilful  arm ; 
Thus  all  is  industry  around. 
No  idle  hand  is  ever  found 

Within  the  busy  farm. 

Jane  Taylor. 


42 


Poems  for  Children. 


THE    BEGGAR-MAIT. 

Abject,  stooping,  old,  and  wan. 
See  yon  wretched  beggar-man  ; 
Once  a  father's  hopeful  heir. 
Once  a  mother's  tender  care. 
When  too  young  to  understand. 
He  but  scorched  his  little  hand 
By  the  candle's  flaming  light 
Attracted,  dancing,  spiral,  bright. 
Clasping  fond  her  darling  round, 
A  thousand  kisses  healed  the  wound. 
Now  abject,  stooping,  old,  and  wan. 
No  mother  tends  the  beggar-man. 

Then  naught  too  good  for  him  to  wear. 
With  cherub  face  and  flaxen  hair. 
In  fancy's  choicest  gauds   arrayed; 
Cap  of  lace,  with  rose  to  aid. 
Milk-white  hat  and  feather  blue. 
Shoes  of  red,  and  coral  too. 
With  silver  bells  to  please  his  ear. 
And  charm  the  frequent,  ready  tear. 
Now  abject,  stooping,  old,  and  wan, 
Neglected  is  the  beggar- man. 

See  the  boy  advance  in  age. 
And  learning  spreads  her  useful  page ; 
In  vain  !    for  giddy  pleasure  calls 
And  shows  the  marbles,  tops,  and  balls. 
What's  learning  to  the  charms  of  play  ? 
The  indulgent  tutor  must  give  way. 
A  heedless,  wilful  dunce,  and  wild, 
The  parent's  fondness  spoiled  the  child ; 
The  youth  in  vagrant  courses  ran. 
Now  abject,  stooping,  old,  and  wan. 
Their  fondhng  is  the  beggar- man. 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamb. 


"  My  eyes  are  weak  and  dim  with  age  ; 

No  road,  no  path,  can  I  descry  ; 
And  these  poor  rags  ill  stand  the  rage 

Of  such  a  keen,  inclement  sky. 

"  §o  faint  I  am,  these  tottering  feet 
No  more  my  feeble  frame  can  bear ; 

My  sinking  heart  forgets  to  beat. 
And  diif  ting  snows  my  tomb  prepare. 

"  Open  your  hospitable  door. 

And  shield  me  from  the  biting  blast ; 

Cold,  cold  it  blows  across  the  moor. 
The  weary  moor  that  I  have  past !  " 

With  hasty  steps  the  farmer  ran, 
And  close  beside  the  fire  they  place 

The  poor  half-frozen  beggar  man. 
With  shaking  limbs  and  pallid  face. 

The  httle  children  flocking  came. 
And  warmed  his  stifiening  hands  in 
theirs  ; 

And  busily  the  good  old  dame 
A  comfortable  mess  prepares. 

Their   kindness   cheered   his   drooping 
soul ; 
And  slowly  down  his  -wTinkled  cheek 
The  big  round  tear  was  seen  to  roll, 
And   told  the  thanks  he  could  not 
speak. 

The  children,  too,  began  to  sigh. 
And  all  their  merry  chat  was  o'ei- ; 

And  yet  they  felt,  they  knew  not  wii\ . 
More  glad  than  they  had  done  before. 

Liicy  Ail-in. 


THE  OLD  BEGGAR. 

AROxnfD  the  fire,  one  wintry  night. 
The  farmer's  rosy  children  sat  • 

The  fagot  lent  its  blazing  hght ; 

And  jokes  went  round  and  careless 
chat. 

When,  hark  !  a  gentle  hand  they  hear, 
Low  tapping  at  the  bolted  door  ; 

And,  thus  to  gain  their  willing  ear, 
A  feeble  voice  was  heard  to  imp. ore  : 

*  Cold  blows  the  blast  across  the  moor  ; 

The  sleet  drives  hissing  in  the  wind  ; 
Yon  toilsome  mountain  hes  beftrc  ; 

A  dreary,  treeless  waste  behind. 


THE  BEGGAR'S  PETITIOIST. 

Pity  the  sorrows  of  a  poor  old  man  ! 
Whose  trembling  limbs  have  borne 
him  to  your  door, 
Whose    days    are    dwindled    to    the 
shortest  space  ; 
Oh !    give    relief,    and    Heaven    will 
bless  your  store. 

These  tattered  clothes  my  poverty  bo- 


These    hoary    locks     proclaim     my 

lengthened  years. 
And  many  a  furrow  in  my  grief-woni 

cheek 
Has  been  the  channel  to  a  stream 

of  tears. 


Rhymes  for   Little   Ones. 


43 


Vou  house,  erected  on  the  rising  ground, 
With  t  mptin^  aspect  drew  me  from 
my  road, 

For  plenty  there  a  residence  has  found. 
And  grandeur  a  magnificent  abode. 

(Hard  is  the   fate  of  the  infirm   and 
poor  !) 
Here,  craving  for  a  morsel  of  their 
bread, 
A   pampered    menial   forced   me   from 
the  door. 
To  seek  a  shelter  in  a  humble  shed. 

Oh,  take  me  to  your  hospitable  home  ! 
Keen  blows  the  wind,  and  piercing 
is  the  cold  ! 
Short  is   my   passage   to  the  friendly 
tomb. 
For  I  am  poor  and  miserably  old. 

Should   I  reveal  the  source   of  every 
grief. 
If  soft  humanity  e'er  touched  your 
br  ast. 
Your  hands   would  not  withhold   the 
ki  d  relief. 
And  tears  of  pity  could  not  be  represt. 

Heaven  sends  misfortunes — why  should 
■    we  repine  ? 

'Tis  Heaven  has  brought  me  to  the 
state  you  see  ; 
And  your  condition  miy  be  soon  like 
mine, — 
The  child  of  sorrow  and  of  misery. 

A  little  farm  was  my  paternal  lot. 
Then,  Uke  the  lark,  I  sprightly  hailed 
the  morn ; 
But,  ah  !  oppression  forced  me  from  my 
cot ; 
My  cattle  died,  and  blighted  was  my 
corn. 

My  daughter — once  the  comfort  of  my 
age. 
Lured  by  a  villain  from  her  native 
home. 
Is  cast,  abandoned,  on  the  world's  wide 
stage. 
And  doomed  in  scanty  poverty  to 
roam. 

My  tender  wife,  sweet  soother  of  my 
>  are  ! 
Struck  with  sad  anguish  at  the  stem 
decree. 


Fell,  lingering  fell,  a  victim  to  despair. 
And  left  the  world  to  wretchedness 
and  me. 

Pity  the  sorrows  of  a  poor  old  man  ! 
Whoso  trembling  limbs  h  >ve  borne 
him  'o  your  door. 
Whose    (lays    are    dwindled    to     the 
shortest  span  ; 
Oh  !    give    relief,    and   Heaven    will 
bless   your   store. 

Thomas  Moss. 


THE    BlilND    BOY. 

0  SAY  what  is  that  thing  called  Light, 
Which  I  must  ne'er  enjov-; 

What  are  the  blessings  of  the  sight, 
O  tell  your  poor  blind  boy  ! 

You  talk  of  wondrous  things  you  see. 
You  say  the  sun  shines  bright ; 

1  feel  him  warm,  but  how  can  he 
Or  make  it  day  or  night  '.' 

My  day  or  night  myself  I  make 

Whene'er  I  sleep  or  play  ; 
And  could  I  ever  keep  awake. 

With  me  'twere  always  day. 

With  heavy  sighs  I  often  hear 
You  mourn  my  hapless  wo»  ; 

But  sure  with  patience  I  can  bear 
A  loss  I  ne'er  can  know. 

Then  let  not  what  I  cannot  have 
IMy  cheer  of  mind  destroy  ; 

Whilst  thus  I  sing,  I  am  a  king, 
Although  a  poor  blind  boy. 

Colley  Cibber. 


BlilOTDNESS. 
In  a  stage-coach  where  late  I  chanced 
to  be, 
A  little  quiet  girl  my  notice  caught ; 
I  saw  she  looked  at  nothing  by  the  way. 
Her    mind    seemed    busy    en    some 
childish  thought. 

I,  with  an  old  man's  coiu-tesy,  addressed 
The    child,    and    called   her   pretty, 
dark-ej-ed  maid. 
And  bid  her  turn  those  pretty  eyes  and 
see 
The  -wide  extended  prospect    "  Sir," 
she  said  : 


44 


Poems  for  Children. 


"  I   cannot  see  the   prospect ;    I   am 
blind." 
Never  did  tongue  of  child   utter  a 
sound 
So  movirnful,  as  her  words  fell  on  rny 
ear. 
Her   mother   tken   related   how   she 
found 

Her   child   was   sightless.     On   a   fine, 
bright  day 
She    saw    her    lay    her    needlework 
aside, 
And  as  on  such  occasions  mothers  Avill, 
For  leaving  off  h  r  work  began  to 
chide. 

"  I'll  do  it  when  'tis  daylight,  if  you 
please  ; 
I  cannot  work,   mamma,  now  it  is 
night." 
The  sun  shone  bright  upon  her  when 
she  spoke. 
And   yet  her  eyes  received  no   ray 
of  light. 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamb. 


THE  BLIND  BOY  AT  PLAY. 

The  blind  boy's  been  at  play,  mother  ; 

The  merry  games  we  had  ! 
We  led  him  on  his  way,  mother. 

And  every  step  was  glad. 
But  when  we  found  a  starry  flower, 

And  praised  its  varied  hue, 
A  tear  c  me  trembling  down  his  cheek. 

Just  like  a  drop  of  dew. 

We  took  him  to  the  mill,  mother. 

Where  falling  waters  made 
A  rainbow  on  the  hills,  mother. 

As  goldea  sl^n-^ays  play'd  ; 
But  when  we  shouted  at  the  scene, 

And  hail'd  the  clear  blue  sky. 
He  stood  quite  still  upon  the  bank. 

And  breathed  a  long,  long  sigh. 

We  ask'd  him  why  he  wept,  mother. 

Whene'er  we  found  the  spots 
Where  periwinkles  crept,  mother. 

O'er  wild  forget-me-nots. 
"  Ah.  me  !  "   he  said,   while  tears  ran 
down 

As  fast  as  summer  showers, 
"  It  is  because  I  cannot  see 

The  sunshine  and  the  flowero." 


Oh  !  that  poor,  sightless  boy,  mother. 

He  tau  ht  me  that  I'm  blest ; 
For  I  can  look  with  joy,  mother, 

On  all  I  love  the  best. 
And  when  I  see  the  dancing  stream, 

And  daisies  red  and  white, 
I  kneel  upon  the  meadow  sod. 

And  thank  my  God  for  sight. 

Eliza  Cook. 


THE    MUFFIN-MAN'S    BELL. 

"  Tinkle,    tinkle,    tinkle "  :    'tis    the 
muffin-man    you    see  : 
"  Tinkle,    tinkle,"    says   the   muffin- 
man's  bell ; 
"  Any  crumpets,  any  muffins,  any  cakes 
tor  your  tea : 
There  are  plenty  here  to  sell. 

"  Tinkle,"    says    the    little    bell,    clear 
and   bri  ht ; 
"  Tinkle,    tinlde,"    says    the    muffin- 
man's   bell ; 
We  have  had  bread  and  milk  for  supper 
to-night. 
And  some  nice  plum-cake  as  well. 

"  Tinkle,  tinkle,  tinkle,"  says  the  little 
bell  again, 
But  it  sounds  quite  far  away  ;      . 
"  If  you  don't  buy  my  muffins  and  my 
cakes,  it  is  plain 
I  must  take  them  home  to-day." 
Mrs.  Hawkshawe. 


^    THE   LETTER: 
When  Sarah's  papa  was  from  home  a 

great  way. 
She  attempted  to  write  him  a  letter 

one  day. 
First   ruling   the   paper — an   excellent 

plan. 
In  all  proper  order  Miss  Sarah  began. 

She  said  she  lamented  sincerely  to  tell 

That  her  dearest  mamma  had  been 
very  unwell  ; 

That  the  story  was  long,  but  when  he 
came  back. 

He  would  hear  of  the  shocking  be- 
haviour of  J  ck. 

Though  an  error  or  two  we  by  chance 

may  detect, 
It  was  better  than  treating  papa  with 

neglect ; 


Rhymes  for  Little   Ones. 


45 


For  Sarah,  when  older,  we  know  will 

learn  better, 
And  write  single  I  with  a  capital  letter. 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  Turner. 


THE    OliD    KITCHEN    CLOCK. 

1.IST£N   to  the  kitchen  clock  ! 
To  itself  it  ever  talks. 
From  its  place  it  never  walks  ; 

"  Tick-tock— tick-tock  !  " 

Tell  me  what  it  says. 

"  I'm  a  very  patient  clock. 

Never  moved  bj'  hope  or  fca-. 
Though  I've  stood  for  many  a  year ; 

"  Tick-tock— tick-tock  !  " 

That  is  what  it  says. 

"  I'm  a  very  truthful  clock : 
People  say  about  the  place. 
Truth  is  written  on  my  face  ; 

"  Tick-tock— tick-tock  !  " 

That  is  what  it  says. 

"  I'm  a  very  active  clock. 

For  I  go  while  you're  asleep, 
Though  you  never  ta  e  a  peep; 

Tick-tock — tick-tock  !  " 

That  is  what  it  says. 

"  I'm  a  most  obliging  clock  : 

If  you  wish  to  hear  me  strike. 
You  may  do  it  when  you  like ; 

Tick-tock— tick-tock  !  " 

That  is  what  it  says. 

What  a  talkative  old  clock  ! 
Let  us  see  what  it  will  do 
When  the  pointer  reaches  two  ; 

•'  Ding-ding  !  "— "  tick-tock  !  " 
That  is  what  it  says. 

Mrs.  Hawkshawe. 


TheSe    Bluebells    and    Cowslips,    how 
pleasant  they  look  ! 
And  the  Rose  and  the  Violet,  how 

gay! 
I  think  I  must  copy  them  into  your 
book. 
For  I'm  sure  you  vrill  like  the  wild 
spray. 

Here's   the   Hawthorn   so   sweet,    the 
Anemone  too. 
Which  loves   'neath   the   Hazels   to 
grow  ; 
The  Orchis,  the  Woodbine,  the  Speed- 
well so  blue. 
And  Stitchwort  as  white  as  the  snow. 

This  bright  yellow  Butter-cup  add  to 
the  wreath  ; 
And  the  Daisy  I'll  place  with  the  rest ; 
Not  hide  it,  but  let  it  just  pee  )  out 
beneath. 
With   its   pretty   tipped   white   and 
pink  crest. 

And  now  we  will  tie  them  up  tight 
with  this  string : 
Or  stay — for  this  ribbon  is  neater  ; 
The  pretty  Wild  Briar  we've  forgotten 
to  bring — 
Now  our  nosegay  we  cannot  make 
sweeter. 


THE    DANCING   LESSON. 
*'  Now,  Miss  Clara,  point  your  toe — 
Look  at  me,  and  point  it  so. 
You     now,  my  dear,  I  learnt  to  dance 
In  that  graceful  country,  France  ; 
And  having  been  so  nicely  taught,    ■ 
I  move,  of  course,  as  a  lady  ought. 
And  only  think  how  grand  'twill  be 
To  have  it  said  you  dance  like  me. 
So  now,  iliss  Clara,  point  your  toe — • 
Look  at  me,  and  point  it  so." 

Eliza  Grove. 


THE    WILD   WREATH. 

OxLY  look  at  this  nosegay  of  pretty 
wild  flowers 
We   have   pluck'd   from   the   hedges 
and   banks ; 
The  fields  are  so  full,  we  could  gather 
for   hours, 
And  still  see  no  space  in  their  ranks. 


A  SWINGING  SONG. 

Merry  it  is  on  a  summer's  day. 
All    through    the    meadows    to    wend 

away  ; 
To  watch  the  brooks  glide  fast  or  slow, 
And  the  little  fish  twinkle  down  below  ; 
To  hear  the  lark  in  the  blue  sky  sing, 
Oh,  sure  enough,  'tis  a  merry  thing — 
But  'tis  merrier  far  to  swing — to  swing  I 


46 


Poems  for  Children. 


Merry  it  is  on  a  winter's  night 
To  listen  to  tales  of  elf  and  sprite, 
Of  caves  and  castles  so  dim  and  old — 
The    dismallest   tales   that   ever   were 

told; 
And  then  to  laugh,  and  then  to  sing. 
You   may  take   my   word  is   a  merry 

thin^ — 
But    'tis    merrier    far    to    swing — to 

swing  ! 

Down  with  the  hoop  upon  the  green ; 
Down  with  the  ringing  tambourine  ; 
Little  heed  for  this  or  for  that ; 
Off  with  the  bonnet,  off  with  the  hat ! 
Away  we  go,  like  birds  on  the  wing  ! 
Higher   yet !    higher  yet !     "  Now   for 

the  King  !  " 
This  is  the  way  we  swing — we  swing  ! 

Scarcely  the  bough  bends,  Claude  is  so 

li  ht— 
Mount  up  behind  him — there,  that  is 

right  ! 
Down  bends  the  branch  now  !   swing 

him  away  ; 
Higher  yet — higher  yet — higher,  I  say  ! 
Oh,  what  a  joy  it  is  !     Now  let  us  sing, 
"  A  pear  for  the  Queen — an  apple  for 

the  King  !  " 
And  shake  the  old  tree  as  we  swing — 

we  swing  ! 

Mary  Howitt. 


SILK  WORMS. 

Jane,  do  you  see  these  little  dots, 

Which  on  this  paper  lie  ? 
They  seem,  just  now,  but  trifling  spots  ; 

Yet  they  will  Uve  and  die. 

They  shortly  will  begin  to  move. 
And  silkworms  is  their  name  ; 

My  gown,  your  bonnet,  too,  my  love, 
From  such  small  creatures  came. 

No  doubt  you  think  it  very  strange. 
And  yet  you  know  not  all ; 

How  often  in  their  shape  they  change, 
That  once  look'd  like  a  ball. 

Plain  as  the  outside  may  appear. 
How  rich  they  are  within  ! 

Who  would  suppose,  to  see  them  here, 
They  such  gay  silk  could  spin  ? 

Mary  Elliott. 


SEE-SAW. 

What  can  James  and  George  be  doing  ? 
Now    up    they    rise,    then    down    are 

going  ! 
I  wish  that  I  could  do  the  same  ; 
Tell  me,  mamma,  what  is  their  game  T 

That  game,  my  dear,  the  see-saw  call ; 
I  hope  they  will  not  get  a  fall  ! 
For,  though  'tis  nice  to  go  so  high, 
Danger  and  mischief  in  it  he. 

When  I  was  young  I  liked  it  too. 
But  now  I  leave  these  things  to  yo  i ; 
I  have  escaped  unhurt,  you  see. 
And  wish  you  may  as  lucky  be. 

Some  little  boys  whom  I  have  seen. 
Have  in  and  out  of  temper   been  ; 
Such  see-saw  whims  are  very  -wTong, 
Although  they  may  not  last  them  long. 

Mary  Elliott. 


THE    AMBITIOTJS    WEED. 

OR,  THE  DANGER  OF  SELF-CONFIDENCE. 

An  idle  weed  that  used  to  crawl 
Unseen  behind  the  garden  wall, 

(Its  most  becoming  station,) 
At  last,  refreshed  by  sun  and  showerc. 
Which  nourish  weeds  as  well  as  flowers 
Amused  its  solitary   hours 

With  thoughts  of  elevation. 

These  thoughts  encouraged  day  by  d&y. 
It  shot  forth  many  an  upward  spray. 

And  many  a  tendril  band  ; 
But  as  it  could  not  climb  alone. 
It  uttered  oft  a  lazy  groan 
To  moss  and  mortar,  stick  and  stone. 

To  lend  a  helping  hand. 

At  length,  by  friendly  arms  sustained. 
The  aspiring  vegetable  gained 

The  object  of  its  labours  : 
That  which  had  cost  her  many  a  sigh. 
And  nothing  else  would  satisfy — 
Which  was  not  only  being  high. 

But  higher  than  her  neig  hours. 

And  now  this  weed,  though  weak,  and 

spent 
With  climbing  up  the  steep  ascent, 
Admired  her  figure  tall : 


Rhymes  for  Little  Ones. 


47 


And  llion  (for  vanity  ne'er  ends 
With  tliat  at  which  it  first  intends) 
Bejian  to  laugh  at  those  poor  friends 
Who  helped  her  up  the  wall. 

But  by  and  by  my  lady  spied 
The  garden  on  the  otiier  side : 

And  fallen  was  her  crest, 
To  see,  in  neat  array  below, 
A  bed  of  all  the  flowers  that  blow — 
Lily  and  rose — a  goodly  show. 

In  fairest  colours  drest. 

Recovering  from  her  first  surprise, 
She  soon   began  to  criticise  : 

"  A  dainty  sight,  indeed  ! 
I'd  be  the  meanest  thing  that  blows 
Rather  than  that  affected  rose  ; 
ho  much  perfume  offends  my  nose," 

Exclaimed  the  vulgar  weed. 

"  Well,  'tis  enough  to  make  one  chilly, 
To  see  that  pale  consumptive  Lil}' 

Among  these  painted  folks. 
Miss  Tulip,  too,  looks  wondrous  odd. 
She's  gaping  like  a  dying  cod  ; — 
What  a  queer  stick  is  Golden-Rod  ! 

And  how  the  Violet  pokes  ! 

"  Not  for  the  ga5'est  tint  that  lingers 
On   Honeysuckle's  rosy  fingers. 

Would  I  with  her  exchange  : 
Since  this,  at  least,  is  very  clear. 
Since  they  are  there,  and  I  am  here 
I  occupy  a  higher  sphere — 

Enjoy  a  wider  range." 

Alas  !  poor  envious  weed  ! — for  lo, 
That  instant  came  the  gardener's  hoe 

And  lopped  her  from  her  sphere  : 
But  none  lamented  when  she  fell ; 
No  passing  Zephyr  sighed,  "  Farewell ;  " 
No  friendly  bee  would  hum  her  knell ; 

No  fairy  dropt  a  tear  ; — 

While  those  sweet  flowers  of  genuine 

worth. 
Inclining  toward  the  modest  earth. 

Adorn  the  vale  below  ; 
Content  to  hide  in  sylvan  dells 
Their  rosy  buds  and  purple  bells  ; 
Though  scarce  a  rising  Zephyr  tells 

The  secret  where  they  grow. 

Jane,  Taylor. 


THE  BEASTS  IN  THE  TO"WER 

Within  the  precincts  of  this  yard. 
Each  in  his  narrow  confines  barred, 
Dwells  every  beast  that  can  be  found 
On  Afric  or  on  Indian  ground. 
How  different  was  the  life  they  led 
In  those  wild  haunts  where  they  were 

bred. 
To  this  tame  servitude  and  fear! 
Enslaved   bj'  man,   they  suffer  here. 

In  that  uneasy,  close  recess 
Crouches  a  sleeping  lioness  ; 
That  next  den  holds  a  bear ;   the  next 
A  wolf,  by  hunger  ever  vext ; 
There,  fiercer  from  the  keeper's  lashes 
His  teeth  the  fell  hyena  gnashes  ; 
That  creature  on  whose  back  abound 
Black  spots  upon  a  yellow  ground 
A  panther  is,  the  fairest  beast 
That  haunteth  in  the  spacious  East. 
He,  underneath  a  fair  outside, 
Does  cruelty  and  treachery  hide. 

That  cat-like  beast  that  to  and  fro 

Restless  as  fire  does  ever  go. 

As  if  his  courage  did  resent 

His  limbs  in  such  confinement  pent, 

That  should  their  prey  in  forests  take. 

And  make  the  Indian  jungles  quake 

A  tiger  is.     Observe  how  sleek 

And  glossy  smooth  his  coat ;   no  streak 

On  satin  ever  matched  the  pride 

Of  that  which  marks  his  furry  hide. 

How  strong  his  muscles  !  he  with  ease 

Upon  the  tallest  man  could  seize. 

In  his  large  mouth  away  could  bear 

him. 
And  into  thousand  pieces  tear  him  ; 
Yet  cabined  so  securely  here. 
The  smallest  infant  need  not  fear. 

That  lovely  creature  next  to  him 
A  lion  is.     Survey  each  limb. 
Observe  the  texture  of  his  claws, 
The  many  thickness  of  those  jaws  : 
His  mane  that  sweeps  the  ground   in 

length. 
Like      Samson's      locks      betokening 

strength. 
In  force  and  swiftness  he  excels 
Each  beast  that  in  the  forest  dwells  ; 
The  savage  tribes  him  king  confers 
Throughout  the  howling  wilderness. 
Woe  to  the  hapless  neighbourhood 
When  he  is  pressed  by  want  of  food  I 


48 


Poems  for  Children 


Of  man,  or  child,  or  bull,  or  horse 
He  makes  his  prey  ;    such  is  his  force. 
A  waste  behind  him  he  creates, 
Whole  villages  depopulates  ; 
Yet  here,  within  appointed  lines, 
How  small  ..  grate  his  rage  confines  ! 

This  place,  methinks,  resem'  leth  well 
The  world  itself  in  which  we  dwell. 
Perils  and  snares  on  every  ground 
Like  those  wild  beasts  beset  us  round. 
But  Providence  their  rage  restrains  ; 
Our  heavenly  Keeper  sets  them  chains  ; 
His  goodness  saveth  every  hour 
His  darlings  from  the  lio  .'s  power. 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamb. 


BTJNCHES   OF    GBAPES. 

"  Bunches  of  grapes,"  says  Timothy  ; 

"  Pomegranates  pink,"  says  Elaine  ; 
"  A  junket  of  cream  and  a  cranberry 
tart 

For  me,"  says  Jane. 

"  Love-in-a-mist,"  says  Timothy  ; 

"  Pimroses  pale,"  says  Elaine  ; 
"  A  nosegay  of  pinks  and  mignonette 

For  me,"  says  Jane. 

"  Chariots  of  gold,"  says  Timothy  ; 

"  Silvery  wings,"  says  Elaine  ; 
"  A  bumpity  ride  in  a  waggon  of  hay 

Fur  me,"  says  Jane. 

Walter  Ramal. 


THE   BLUE   BOY    IN   LONDOIST. 

All  in  the  morning  early 

The  Little  Boy  in  Blue 
(Th?  grass  with  rain  is  pearly) 

Has  thought  of  something  n  w. 

He  saddled  dear  old  Dobbin  ; 

He  had  but  half  a  crown  ; 
And  joggin  ,  cantering,  bobbing, 

He  I  ame  to  London  town. 

The  sheep  were  i  i  the  meadows, 
The  cows  were   n  the  corn 

Beneath  the  city    hadow 
At  last  he  stood  forlorn. 


He  stood  beneath  Bow  steeple, 
Th  .t  is    n  London  town  ; 

And  tried  to  count  the  people 
As  they  went  up  and  down. 

Oh  !  there  was  not  a  daisy. 

And  not  a  buttercup  ; 
The  air  was  thick  and  hazy. 

And  Blue  Boy  gave  it  up. 

The  houses,  next,  in  London, 

He  thought  that  he  would  count ; 

But  still  the  sum  was  undon?. 
So  great  was  the  amount. 

He  could  not  think  of  robbing — 
He  had  but  half  a  crown  ; 

And  so  he  mounted  Dobbin, 
And  rode  b.ick  from  the  town. 

The  sheep  were  in  the  meadows. 
And  the  cows  were  in  the  corn  ; 

Amid  the  evening  shadows 
He  stood  where  he  was  born. 

William  Brighty  Ran  a. 


THE    ENGLISH   GIBL. 

Sporting  on  the  village  green, 
The  pretty  English  girl  is  seen 
Or,  beside     er  cottage  neat. 
Knitting  on  the  garcien-seat. 

Now  within  her  humble  door. 
Sweeping  clean  the  ldtche:i  floor ; 
While  upon  the  wall  so  wliite, 
Hang  her  cjp^ers,  polish' d  bright. 

Mary  never  idle  sits. 
She  eit  er  sews  or  spins  or  knits ; 
Hard  she  1  hours  all  the  week, 
With  sparkling  eye  and  rosj'  cheek. 

And  on  Sunday  Mary  goes. 
Neatly  dress'd  in  decent  clothes. 
Says  her  prayers  (a  constant  rule). 
And  hastens  to  the  Sunday  School. 

Oh  !  how  good  should  we  be  found. 
AVho  live  on  E;igland's  happy  ground  ! 
Where  rich  and  poo   and  wretched  may 
AU  learn  to  walk  in  wisdom's  way. 


Jane  Taylor, 


Rhymes  for  Little   Ones. 


49 


I 


THE  SCOTCH  LADDIE. 

Cold  blows  the  north  wind  o'er  the 

mountains  so  bare, 
Poor   Sawney   benighted   is   travelling 

there  ; 
His  plaid  cloak  around  him  he  carefully 

binds, 
And  holds  on  his  bonnet  that's  blown 

by    he  winds. 

Long  time  he  has  wander'd  his  desolate 

way, 
That  wound  him  along  by  the  banks  of 

the  Tay  ; 
Now    o'er    this    cold    mountain    poor 

Sawney  must  roam, 
Be  ore   he   arrives   at   his   dear   little 

home. 


Barefooted    he    follows    the    path    he 

must  go. 
The  point  of  his  footsteps  he  leaves  in 

the  snow  ; 
And  while  the  white  sleet  patters  cold 

in  his  face. 
He  thinks  of  his  home,  and  he  quickens 

h  3  pace. 

But  see  !  from  afar  he  discovers  a  light 

That  cheerfully  gleams  on  the  dark- 
ness of  nigl'.t ; 

And  oh  !  what  delights  in  his  bosom 
arise  ! 

He  knows  'tis  his  dear  little  home  that 
he  spies. 

And  now  when  arrived  at  his  father's 

own  door, 
His  fears,  his  fatigues,  and  his  dangers 

aie  o'er; 
His   brother-;  and  sisters  press  round 

with  delight. 
And  welcome  him  in  from  the  storms 

of  the  night. 


THE    IRISH    BOY. 

Young  Paddy  i  i  merry  and  happy,  but 

poor  ; 
His  cabin  is  built  in  the  midst  of  a 

moor ; 
No  pretty  green  meadows  about  it  are 

found. 
But  bogs  in  the  middle,  and  mountains 

around. 

This  wild  Irish  lad — of  all  lads  the  most 

frisky, 
Enjoj-^s  his  spare  meal  of  potatoes  and 

whisky. 
As  he  merrily  sits,   with  no  care   on 

his  mind, 
At  the  door  of  his  cabin,  and  sings  to 

the  Mind. 

Close  down  at  his  feet  lies  his  shaggy 

old  dog. 
Who  has  plunged  with  his  master  thro' 

many  a  bog  ; 
While    Paddy    sings,    "  Liberty    long 

shall  reign  o'er  us," 
Shag  catches  his  ardour,  and  barks  a 

loud  chorus. 

Young  Paddy,  indeed,  is  not  polish'd 

or  mild. 
But  his  soul  is  as  free  as  his  country 

is  wild ; 
And  tho'  unacquainted  with  fashion  or 

dress, 
His  heart  ever  melts  at  the  sound  of 

distress. 

Then  let  us  not  laugh  at  his  bulls  or  his 

blunders. 
His  broad  native  brogue,  or  his  ignorant 

wonders  ; 
Nor  will  we  by  ridicule  ever  destroy 
The  honest  content  of  a  wild  Irish  by. 

Jane  Taylor. 


1 1  vain  from  the  north  the  keen  winter- 
winds  blow  ; 

In  vain  are  the  mountain-tops  cover'd 
with  snow ; 

Th  •  cold  of  his  country  can  never 
t  ontrol 

The  affection  that  glows  in  the  High- 
lander's soul. 

Jane  Taylor. 


THE  WELSH  LAD. 

Over  the  mountain  and  over  the  rock. 
Wanders   young   Taffy,   to   follow   his 

flock; 
While  far  above  him  he  sees  the  wild 

goats 
Gallo  '   about  in  their  shaggy,   warm 

coats. 


50 


Poems  for  Children. 


Sometimes   they   travel   in   frolicsome 

crowds 
To   the   mountain's   high   top   that   is 

lost  in  the  clouds  ; 
Then  they  descend  to  the  vaUey  again. 
Or  scale  the  black  rocks  that  hang  over 

the  main. 

Now  when  young  Taffy's  day's  labour 
is  o'er. 

He  cheerfully  sits  at  his  own  cottage- 
door  ; 

While  all  his  brothers  and  sisters  around 

Sit  in  a  circle  upon  the  bare  ground. 

Then  their  good  father,  with  spectacled 

nose, 
Reads  his  Bible  aloud  ere  he  takes  his 

repose ; 
While  the  pale  moon  rises  over  the  hill, 
And  the  birds  are  asleep,  and  all    ature 

is  sti  1. 

Now    with  his  harp    old  Llewellyn  is 

seen. 
And  joins  the  gay  party  that  sits  on 

the  green  ; 
He   leans   in   the   doorway   and   plays 

them  a  tune, 
And  the  children  aU  dance  by  the  light 

of  the  moon 

How  often  the  wretch  in  a  city  so  gay. 
Where  pleasure  and  luxury  foUow  his 

way, 
When  health  quite  forsakes  him,  and 

cheerfulness  fails. 
Might  envy  a  lad  on  the  mountains  of 

Wales  ! 

Jane  Taylor. 


THE    LITTLE    PIPEB. 

Donald   Macdonald's 

A  "  braw  "  little  lad. 
With  his  woollen  Glengarry, 

His  ki!t  and  his  plaid  ; 
And  he's     iping  the  march 

T  ey  have  taught  him  to  play 
At  Gaffer  Macdonald's 

On  New  Year's  Day 

Gaffer  Macd  nald's 

A  piper  true 
As  ever  yet  piped 

For  Argyle  or  Buccleuch ; 


He  piped  with  the  pipers 

Of   Havelock's   line, 
When  they  marched  into  Lucknow, 

With  "  Auld  Lang  Syne." 

And  I  know  he'll  look  up 

With  a  tear  in  hi->  eye, 
W^hen  Donald  Macdonald 

Comes  marching  by  ; 
For  nothing  could  please  him 

Jlore  than  to  see 
The  pipes  in  the  hands 

Of  his  "  bairnie  wee." 

Play  up.  little  Donald  ! 

Both  loud  and  clear  ; 
Here's  mother  and  father 

To  bring  up  the  rear. 
Play  up,  little  Donald, 

And  march  along 
And  cheer  Gaffer's  old  heart 

With  your  New  Year's  song  ! 

And  when  at  the  window 

His  face  you  see. 
Play  "  The  Campbells  are  Coming," 

And  so  are  we — 
To  partake  of  good  cheer 

In  the  old  Scotch  way, 
At  Gaffer  Macdonald's 

On  New  Year's  D.iy. 

Alfred  H.  Miles. 


THE  DANGEROUS  TRIAL. 

Fann^'    now  that  we're  alone, 
Held   ^ome  paper  to  the  iire  ; 

Pretty    sparks  will  quickly  come  ; 
Put  it  nearer,  raise  it  higher. 

See  how  red  and  bright  they  shine, 
Mounting  one  above  another  ; 

Fanny  answers,    "  Yes,   it's  fine. 
But  take  the  paper,  dearest  brother." 

The  sparks  had  now  become  a  flame. 
And  Fanny's  frock  was  burning  too. 

Silly  children,  both  to  blame. 
Little  good  your  tears  can  do. 

Their  screams  bring  nurse  ;  with  terror 
wild. 

In  the  hearthrug  she  rolls  Fanny  : 
The  prudent  caution  sav'd  the  child. 

But  weeks  of  pain  she  suffer'd  many. 

Mary  EUiitt. 


Rhymes  for  Little  Ones 


51 


THE    DREADFUL    STORY 

ABOUT     HARRIET     AND    THE 

MATCHES. 

It  almost  makes  me  cry  to  tell 
What  foolish  Harriet  befell. 
Mamma  and  Nurse  went  out  one  day 
And  left  her  all  alone  to  play  ; 
Now,  on  the  table  close  at  hand 
A  box  of  matches  chanc'd  to  stand  ; 
And  kind  Mamma  and  Nurse  had  told 

her 
That,  if  she  touched  them,  they  should 

scold  her. 
But  Harriet  said  :  "  Oh,  what  a  pity  I 
For,  when  they  burn,  it  is  so  pretty  ; 
They  crackle  so,  and  spit,  and  flame  ; 
Mamma,  too,  often  does  the  same." 

The  pussy-cats  heard  this. 

And  they  began  to  hiss. 

And  stretch  their  claws 

And  raise  their  paws  ; 

"  Me-ow,"  they  said,  "  me-ow,  me-o. 

You'll  burn  to  death,  if  you  do  so." 

But  Harriet  would  not  take  advice  ; 
She  lit  a  match — it  was  so  nice  ! 
It  crackled  so,  it  burned  so  clear. 
Because  Mamma  could  not  see  her. 
She  jumped  for  joy  and  ran  about 
And  was  too  pleased  to  put  it  out. 

The  puss3'-cats  saw  this. 

And  said  :   "  Oh,  naughty,  naughty 

IVIiss  !  " 
And  stretched  their  claws 
And  raised  their  paws  ; 
"  'Tis  very,  very  wrong,  y  u  know, 
Me-ow,  me-o,  me-ow,  me-o. 
You  will  be  burnt,  if  you  do  so." 

And  then  !  oh  !  what  a  dreadful  thing  ! 
The  fire  has  caught  her  apron-string  ! 
Her  apron  burns,  her  arms,  her  hair  ! 
She  burns  all  over,  everywhere  ! 

Then  how  the  pussy-cats  did  mew  ; 
What  else,  poor  pussies,  could  they  do  ? 
Tbey  scream'd  for  help — 'twas  all  in 

vain  ! 
So   then,    they   said :    *'  We'll   scream 

again ; 
Make  h'lste,  make  haste  !  meow,  me-o. 
She'll  burn  to  death ;  we  told  her  so." 


So  she  was  burnt,  with  all  her  el  th  s. 
And   arms   and  hands,   and  eyes   and 

nose  ; 
Till  she  had  nothing  more  to  lose 
Except  her  little  scarlet  shoes  ; 
And  not  bin,'  else  but  t  ese  was  found 
Among  her  ashes  on  the  ground. 

And  when  the  good  cats  sat  beside 
The  smoking  ashes,  how  they  cried  ! 
"  Me-ow,  me-oo,  me-ow,  me-oo. 
What  will  Mamma  and  Nursy  do  ?  " 
Their  tears  ran  down  their  cheeks  so 

fast ; 
They  made  a  little  pond  at  last. 

Dr.  Heinri  h  Hoffmann. 


MEDDLESOME    MATTY. 

Oh  !  how  one  ugly  tri  k  has  spoil'd 
The  sweetest  and  the  best ; 

Mat  Ida,  though  a  pleasant  child. 
One  ugly  trick  possessed. 

Which,  like  a  cloud  before  the  skies, 

Hid  all  her  better  qualities. 

Sometimes  she'd  lift  the  tea-pot  lid. 

To  peep  at  what  was  in  it ; 
Or  tilt  the  kettle,  if  you  did 

But  turn  your  back  a  minute. 
In  vain  you  told  her  not  to  touch. 
Her  trick  of  meddling  grew  so  much. 

Her  grandmamma  we  it  out  one  day. 

And  by  mistake  she  laid 
Her  spectac  es  and  snuff-box  gay 

Too  near  the  little  maid. 
"  Ah  !    well,"    thought   she,    "  I'U    try 

them  on. 
As  soon  as  grandmamma  is  gone." 

Forthwith  she  placed  upon  her  nose 
The  glasses  large  and  wide  ; 

And  looking  round,  as  I  suppose. 
The  snuff-box,   too,   she  spied  ; 

"  Oh  !  what  a  pretty  box  is  this  ! 

I'U  open  it,"  said  little  Miss. 

"  I  know  that  grandmamma  would  say 
'  Don't  medd'e  with  it,  dear  '  ; 

But  then,  she's  far  enough  away. 
And  no  one  else  is  near. 

Besides,  what  can  there  be  amiss 

In  op'ning  such  a  box  as  this  ?  " 

4* 


52 


Poems  for  Children. 


So  thumb  and  finger  went  to  work 

To  move  the  stubborn  lid, 
And  pre-ently  a  mighty  jerk 

The  mighty  mischief  did  ; 
For  all  at  onue,  ah  !  woful  case, 
The  snufiE  came  puffing  in  her  face. 

Poor  eyes,  and  rose,  and  mouth,  and 
chin 

A  dismal  sight  presented  ; 
And  as  the  snuff  got  further  in. 

Sincerely  she  repented. 
In  vain  she  ran  about  for  ease  : 
She  could  do  nothing  else  but  sneeze. 

She  dash'd  the  spectacles  away, 
To  wipe  her  tingling  eyes. 

And  as  in  twenty  bits  they  lay. 
Her  grandmamma  she  spies. 

"  Hey    day,    and    what's    the    matter 
now  ?  " 

Cried  grandmamma,  with  lifted  b  ow. 

Matilda,  smating  with  the  pain, 
And   tingling   still,    and   sore. 

Made  many  a  promise  to  refrain 
From  meddling  eve  more. 

And  'tis  a   act,  as  I  have  heard. 

She  ever  since  has  kept  her  word. 

Ann  Tat/lor. 


THE  BUSY  CHILD, 

Hannah,  a  busy,  meddling  thing, 
Would  peep  in  every  place  ; 

A  ■  habit  which  must  always  bring 
Young  folks  into  disgrace. 

One  day  her  mother  put  a  jar 

Upon  a  cupboard  shelf ; 
Sly  Hannah  view'd  it  from  afar, 

And  said  within  herself: 

"  What   can   mamma   have   plac'd   so 
high  ? 

It  must  be  something  nice  ; 
And,  if  I  thought  she  were  not  nigh, 

I'd  see  it  in  a  trice." 

Quick  on  the  table  then  she  skipp'd. 

But,  feeling  s  ime  al  rm. 
She  sudden  turn'd,  her  left  foot  slipp'd. 

She  fell — and  broke  her  arm. 

Mary  Elliott. 


GOING  INTO  BBEECHES. 

Joy  to  Philip  !  he  this  day 

Has  his  long  coats  cast  away. 

And  (the  childish  season  ^onc). 

Puts  the  manly  breeche;  on. 

Officer  on  gay  parad  , 

Ked-coat  in  his  first  cockade. 

Bridegroom  in  his  wedding  trim. 

Birthday  beau  surpassing  him. 

Never  did  with  conscious  gait 

Strut  about  in  half  the  state. 

Or  the  pride  (yet  free  from  sin). 

Of  my  little  Mannikin. 

Never  was  there  pride,  or  bliss, 

Half  so  rational  as  his. 

Sashes,  fr  cks,  to  those  that  need  'em, 

Philip's  limbs  have     ot  their  freedom. 

He  c  n  run,  or  he  can  ride. 

And  do  twenty  things  beside. 

Which  his  pet.icoats  forbad: 

Is  he  not  a  happy  lad  ? 

Now  he's  under  other  banners. 

He  must  leave  his  former  manners  ; 

Bid  adieu  to  female  games. 

And  forget  their  very  names : 

Puss-in-corners,  hide-and-seek. 

Sports  for  girls  and  punies  weak  ! 

Baste-the-bear  he  now  may  play  at. 

Leap-frog,  foot-ball,  sport  away  at. 

Show  his  sti'ength  and  skill  at  cricket, 

Mark  hi^  distance,  pitch  his  wicket. 

Run  about  in  winter's  snow 

Till  his  cheeks  and  finger's  glow. 

Climb  a  tree,  or  scale  a  wall. 

Without  any  fear  to  fall. 

If  he  get  a  hurt  or  bruise, 

To  complain  he  must  refuse. 

Though  the  anguish  and  the  smart 

Go  unto  his  litt.e  heart. 

He  must  have  his  courage  ready, 

Kee     his  voice  and  visage  steady, 

Brace  his  eyeballs  stiff  as  drum. 

That  a  tear  may  never  come  ; 

And  his  grief  must  only  speak 

From  the  colour  in  his  cheek. 

This,  and  more,  he  must  endure. 

Hero  he  in  miniature  ! 

This  and  more,  must  now  be  done. 

Now  the  breeches  are  put  on. 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamb, 

NEW  SHOES. 

Rosy  Martha  laughs  with  joy  ; 

What  has  pleas'd  the  little  maid  ? 
Has  she  got  a  fine  new  toy  ? 

No !  she  says,  and  shakes  her  head. 


Rhymes  for  Little  Ones. 


53 


Her  garments  tight  she  holds  behind, 
And  peeps  at  sometliing  on  the 
ground  ; 

Her  head  to  right  then,  left,  incliii'd  ; 
Ah  !  now  the  secret  I  have  found. 

She  smiles  her  new  green  shoes  to  see, 
With  clasps  of  polish'd  silver  brig  t ; 

Yon  shoeless  girl  feels  no  such  glee. 
Her  ragged  clothes  give  no  delight. 

Yet  Martha,  tho  igh  her  clothes  be  old. 
Her  lieart  is  good,  her  manners  mild  ; 

I'd  give  your  slioes,  were  they  of  gold. 
To  see  you  half  so  good  a  child. 

Mary  Elliott. 


THINK  BEFORE  YOXT  ACT. 

Elizabeth  her  frock  has  torn. 
And  prick'd  her  finger  too  ; 

Why  did  she  meddle  with  the  thorn. 
Until  its  use  sh,'  knew  ? 

Because  Elizabeth  will  touch 
Whate'er  comes  in  her  wa  • ; 

I've  seen    er  suffer  quite  as  much, 
A  dozen  times  a  day. 

Yet,  though  so  oft  she  feels  the  pain. 

The  habit  is  so  strong, 
That  all  our  caution  is  in  vain. 

And  seldom  heeded  long. 

I  shoulJ  not  wonder  if,  at  last. 
She  meet  some  dreadful  fate  ; 

And  then,  perhaps,  regret  the  past, 
When  sorrow  comes  too  late. 

Mary  Elliott, 


THE  PIN". 

"  Dear  me  !  what  signifies  a  pin. 
Wedged  in  a  rotten  board  ? 

I'm  certain  that  I  won't  begin. 
At  ten  years  old,  to  hoard  ; 

I  never  will  be  called  a  miser. 

That  I'm  determin'd,"  said  Eliza. 

So  onward  tript  the  little  maid. 

And  left  the  pin  behind. 
Which  very  snug  and  quiet  lay. 

To  its  hard  fate  resigned  ; 
Nor  did  she  think  (a  careless  chii) 
*Twas  wort.i  her  while  to  stoop  for  it. 


Next  day  a  party  was  to  ride. 

To  so-  nn  air  b:\llooii ! 
And  all  the  company  beside 

Were  drest  and  ready  soon ; 
But  she  a  woful  case  w.is  in. 
For  want  of  just  a  single  pin. 

In  vain  her  eager  eyes  she  brings, 
To  ev'ry  darksome  crac'v ; 

There  was  not  one,  and  yet  her  things 
Were  dropping  off  her  back. 

She  cut  her  pincushion  in  two. 

But  no,  not  one  had  fallen  through 

At  last,  as  hunting  on  the  floor, 

Over  a  crack  she  lay. 
The  carriage  rattled  to  the  door. 

Then  rattled  fast  away ; 
But  poor  Eliza  was  not  in, 
For  want  of  just — a  single  pin ! 

There's  hardly  anything  so  small, 

80  trifling  or  so  mean. 
That  we  may  never  want  at  all, 

For  service  unforeseen  ; 
And  wilful  waste,  depend  upon't, 
Brings,  almost  always,   woful  want ! 

Ann  Taylor. 


THE    SASH. 

MA:\rMA  had  ordered  Ann,  the  maid, 

iSIiss  Caroline  to  wash  ; 
And  put  on  with  her  clean  white  frock. 

A  handsome  muslin  sash. 

But  Caroline  began  to  cry, 
For  what  you  cannot  think ; 

She  said,  "  Oh,  that's  an  ugly  sash  ; 
I'll  have  my  pretty  pink." 

Papa,  who  in  the  parlour  heard 
Her  make  the  noise  and  rout. 

That  instant  went  to  Caroline, 
To  whip  her,  there's  no  doubt. 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  Turner. 


QEORG-E  AND  THE  CHIMNEY- 
SWEEPEB. 

His  petticoats  now  George  cast  off. 
For  he  was  four  years  old  ; 

His  trousers  were  nankeen  so  fine. 
His  buttons  bright  as  gold. 


54 


Poems  for  Children. 


"  May  I,"  said  little  George,  "  go  out, 
My  pretty  clothes  to  show  ? 

May  I,  papa  ?  may  I,  mamma  ?  " 
The  answer  was — "  No,  no." 

*'  Go,  run  below,  George  ;  in  the  cotirt, 

But  go  not  in  the  street. 
Lest  naughty  boys  should  play  some 
trick. 

Or  gijjsies  you  should  meet." 
Yet,  tho'  forbad,  George  went  unseen. 

That  other  boys  might  spy  ; 
And  all  admir'd  him  when  he  lisp'd — 

"  Now,  who  so  fine  as  I  ?  " 

But  whilst  he  strutted  to  and  fro, 

So  proud,  as  I've  heard  tell, 
A  sweep-boy  pass'd,  whom  to  avoid 

He  slipp'd,  and  down  he  fell. 
The  sooty  lad  was  kind  and  good. 

To  Georgy  boy  he  ran. 
He  rais'd  him  up,  and  kissing,  said, 

"  Hush,  hush,  my  little  man  !  " 

He  rubb'd  and  wip'd  his  clothes  with 
care. 

And  hugging,  said,  "  Don't  cry  ! 
Go  home  as  quick  as  you  can  goj 

Sweet  little  boy,  good  bye." 
Poor  George  look'd  down,  and  lo  !  his 
dress 

Was  blacker  than  before  ; 
AU  over  soot,  and  mud,  and  dirt. 

He  reach'd  his  father's  door. 

He    sobb'd,    and    wept,    and    look'd 
asham'd. 

His  fault  he  did  not  hide  ; 
And  since  so  sorry  for  his  fault. 

Mamma  forbore  to  chide. 
That  night,  when  he  was  gone  to  bed, 

He  jump'd  up  in  his  sleep. 
And  cried  and  sobb'd,  and  cried  again, 

"  I  thou-ht  I  saw  the  sweep  !  " 

Adelaide  O'Keeff'e, 


NEATNESS    IN   APPAKEL. 

In  your  garb  and  outward  clothing 

A  reserved  plainness  use  ; 
By  their  neatness  more  distinguisl.cd, 

Than  the  briglitness  of  their  hues. 

^11  the  colours  in  ihe  rainbow 
Serve  to  spread  the  peacock's  train  ; 


Half  the  lustre  of  his  feathers 

Would  turn  twenty  coxcombs  vain. 

Yet  the  swan  that  swims  in  rivers, 

leases  the  judicious  sight ; 

Who,  of  brighter  colours  heedless. 

Turns  alone  to  simple  white. 

Yet  all  other  hues  com  ared 
With  his  whiteness  show  amiss  ; 

And  the  peacock's  coat  of  colours 
Like  a  fool's  coat  looks  by  his. 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamb. 


SliTJTTISHNESS. 

Ah  !  Mary,   my  Mary,  why,  where  is 
your  Dolly  ? 
Look  here,  I  protest,  on  the  floor ; 
To  leave  her  about  in  the  dirt  so  is 
folly. 
You  ought  to  be  trusted  no  more 

I  thought  you  were  ^  leased,  and  re- 
ceived  quite  gladlv, 
When  on  your   birthday  she  came 
home  ; 
Did  I  ever  suppose  you  would  use  her 
s )  sadly. 
And  strew  her  things  over  the  room  ? 

Her  bonnet  of  straw  you  once  thought 
a  great  matter. 
And  tied  it  so  pretty  and  neat ; 
Now,  see  how  'tis  crumpled ;  no  trencher 
is  flatter. 
It    grieves    your    mamma    thus    to 
see't. 

Suppose  (you're  my  Dolly,  you  know, 
little  daughter. 
Whom  I  love  to  dress  neat  and  see 
good). 
Suppose  in  my  case  of  you  I  were  to 
falter. 
And  let  you  get  dirty  and  rude  ! 

But  Dolly's  mere  wood  ;  you  are  flesh 
and  blood  living. 
And   deserve    better  treatment   and 
care  ; 
That  is  true,  my  sweet  girl ;    'tis  the 
reason  I'm  giving 
'J'his  lesson  so  sharp  and  severe. 


Rhymes  for  Little  Ones. 


55 


I 


'Tis  not  for  the  Dolly  I'm  anxious  and 
fearful. 
Though   she   cost   too   much   to    be 
spoiled  ; 
I'm    afraid    lest    yourself    should    get 
sluttish,  not  careful. 
And  that  were  a  sad  thing,  my  child. 

Jane  Taylor. 


DIBTY  JIM. 


There  was  one  little  Jim, 
'Tis  reported  of  him, 

And  must  be  to  his  la  ting  disgrace, 
That  he  never  was  seen 
With  hands  at  all  clean. 

Nor  yet  ever  clean  was  his  face. 

His  friends  were  much  hurt 
To  see  so  much  dirt. 

And  often  they  made  him  quite  clean  ; 
But  aU  was  in  vain. 
He  was  dirty  again. 

And  not  at  all  fit  to  be  seen 

Then  to  wash  he  was  ^  ent. 
He  re'uctantly  went 

With  water  to  splash  himself  o'er ; 
But  ho  seldom  was  seen 
To  have  wash'd  him  elf  clean. 

And  o  ten  loo  .'d  worse  than  before. 

Th    idle  and  bad 
Like  thi?  li  tie  lad. 

May  be  dirty,  and  black,  to  be  sure  ; 
But  goo  1  boys  are  seen 
To  be  decent  and  clean, 

Altho'  Shey  ase  e\/er  hO  poor. 

Jane  J'aylor. 


OLEANIilNESS. 

CoM'^,  my  little  Robert,  near — 
Fie  !  what  filthy  hands  a  e  here — 
Who  that  e'er  could  unlerstand 
The  rare  structure  of  a  1  and, 
With  its    ranching  fingers  fine. 
Work  itself  of  hands  divine. 
Strong  yet  delicately  knit, 
Fur  ten  thousand  uses  fit. 
Overlaid  with  so  clear  skin. 
And  the  curious  palm,  disposed 
In  such  lines,  some  have  supposed 


You  may  read  the  fortunes  the  e 
By  the  fii'ures  that  appeir; 
Who  this  hand  would  choose    o  cover 
With  a  crust  of  dirt  all  over, 
Till  it  looked  in  hue  and  shape 
Like  the  fore-foot  of  an  ape  't 
Man  or  boy  that  works  or  play 
In  the  fields  or  the  highways. 
May,  without  offence  or  hut. 
From  the  soil  contract  a  dir  , 
Which  the  next  clear  spring  or  .  iver 
Washes  out  and  out  for  ever ; 
But  to  che  ish  stains  impure. 
Soil  deliberate  to  endure. 
On  the  skin  to  fix  a  stain 
Till  it  works  into  the  grain, 
Argues  a  df  generate  mind, 
Sordid,  slothful,  ill-inchned. 
Wanting  in  that  self-r  spect 
Which  does  virtue  best  prot  ct. 

Ail-cndearing  cleanliness, 

Virtue  next  to  godliness. 

Easiest,  cheapest,  necd'ul'st  duty. 

To  the  body  health  and  beauty. 

Who  that's  human  would  refuse  it, 

When  a  little  water  does  it  ? 

Charles  and  Marij  Lamb. 


THE   NEW  liOOKINQ-GLASS. 

In  the  watertub  William  h  id  found 
Two  tish,  who  were  swimming  with 
glee; 
Robert  begg'd  to  be  rais'd  from  the 
ground, 
That  their  sports  he  might  easily  see 

Then  he  mounted  an  old  broken  chair. 
And  peep'd  into  the  tub  with  delight  : 

*'  Ah  !  William,"  he  cried,  "  I  declare 
I  have  found  out  another  fine    ight ; 

*•  Each  part  of  my  face  I  can  view. 
As  plain  as  I  do  in  a  glass  ; 

Let  me  see  if  my  hands  will  show  too." 
A:.d  he  quitted  his  hold — wi  en,  alas  ! 

Righ    into  the  water,  he  fell ; 

William  saved  him,  or  he  had  been 
drowned. 
Let  children  who  hear  thi-;,  th'nk  well, 
Bi'fore    they    seek    sight-)    from    the 
giound. 

Mary  EUloU. 


56 


Poems  for  Children. 


WASPS   IN   A   GARDEN. 

The  wall-trees  are  laden  with  fruit : 
The  grape,  and  the  p  um,  and  the 
pear, 

The  peach  and  the  nectarine,  to  suit 
Every  taste,  in  abundance  are  there. 

Yet  all  are  not  welcome  to  taste 
These  kind  bounties  of  Nature ;  for 
one 
From    her    open-spread    table    must 
haste. 
To  make  room  for  a  more-favoured 
son. 

As  that  wasp  will  soon  sadly  perceive. 
Who  has  feasted  awhile  on  a  plum  ; 

And,  his  thirst  thinking  now  to  relieve, 
For  a  sweet  liquid  draught  he  is  come. 

He  peeps  in  the  narrow-mouthed  glass, 
Which  depends  from  a  branch  of  the 
tree  ; 

He  ventures  to  creep  down, — alas ! 
To  be  drowned  in  that  delicate  sea. 

"Ah !   ^ay,  my  d  ar  friend,  is  it  right 
These  glass   bottles  are  hung  upon 
trees  ? 
'Midst  a  scene  of  inviting  delight. 
Should  we  find  such  mementoes  as 
these  ?  " 

"  From  such  sights,"  said  my  friend, 
"  we  may  draw 
A  lesson,  for  look  at  that  bee  ; 
Compared  with  the  wasp  which  you 
saw. 
He  will  teach  us  what  we  ought  to  be. 

"  He  in  safety  industriously  plies 
His  sweet  honest  work  all  the  day  ; 

Then  home  with  his  earnings  he  flies  ; 
Nor    in    thieving    his    time    wastes 
away." 

"  Oh,  hush  !  nor  with  fables  deceive," 
I   replied,    "  which,    though   pretty, 
can  ne'er 

Make  me  cease  or  that  insect  to  grieve. 
Who  in  ajony  stiU  does  appear. 

"  If  a  aimile  ever  you  need 

You  are  welcome  to  make  a  wasp  do. 
But  you  ne'er  should  mix  fiction  indeed 

With  things  that  are  ferious  and 
t  ue." 

Cliarles  and  Mary  Lamb. 


THOUGHTLESS   CBXJELTY. 

There,  Robert,  you  have  killed  that  fly. 
And  should  you  thousand  ages  try 
The  life  you've  taken  to  su  ply. 
You  could  not  do  it. 

You  surely  must  have  been  devoid 
Of  thought  and  sense  to  have  des . ,  03'ed 
A  thing  which  no  way  you  annoyed — 
You'U  one  day  rue  it. 

'Twas  but  a  fly,  perhaps  you'll  say. 
That's  born  in  April,  dies  in  May  ; 
That  does  '  ut  just  learn  to  display 
His  wings  one  minute. 

And  in  the  nest  is  vanished  quite  ; 
A  bird  devours  it  in  his  flight, 
Or  come  a  cold  blast   n  the  night 
There's  no  breath  in  it. 

The  bird  but  seeks  its  proper  food. 
And  Providence,  whose  powe  ■  endued 
That  fly  with  life,  when  it  thinks  good. 
May  justly  take  it. 

But  you  have  no  excuses  for  't ; 
A  ife  by  Nature  made  so  short. 
Less  reason  is  that  you  for  sport 
Should  shorter  make  it. 

A  fly  a  little  thing  you  rate  : 
But,  Robert,  do  not  estimate 
A  creature's  pain  by  small  or  great ; 
Ti.e  greatest  being 

Can  have  but  fibres,  nerves,  and  flesh. 
And  these  the  smallest  ones  possess. 
Although  their  f  ame  and  structure  less 
Escape  our  seeing. 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamb. 


THE  BOY  AND  THE  SKYLARK. 

A   FABLE. 

"  A  WICKED  action  fear  to  do. 

When  you  are  by  yourself ;  for  thougli 

You  thin     you  can  conceal  it, 
A  little  bird  that's  in  the  air 
The  hidden  tresp  ss  shall  declare. 

And  openly  reveal  it." 

Richard  the  saying  oft  had  he  rd. 
Until  the  sight  of  any  bird 
Would  set  his  heart  a-quaking  ; 


Rhymes  for  Little  Ones. 


57 


He  saw  a  host  of  winged  spies 

Vo:  ever  o  !•    him  in  the  skies, 

Note  of  his  actions  ta!  ing. 

This  pious  precept,  while   t  stood 
In  his  remembrance,  kept  him  good 

When  nobody  was  by  him  ; 
For  though  no  human  eye  was  near. 
Yet  Richard  still  did  wisely  fear 

The  little  bird  should  spy  him. 

But  best  resolves  will  sometimes  sleep  ; 
Poor  frailty  will  not  always  keep 

From  th  it  which  is  forbidden  ; 
And  Richard  one  day  left  alone. 
Laid  hands  on  s  metliing  not  his  own. 

And  hoped      e  theft  w  s  hidden. 

His  conscience  s'ept  a  day  or  two. 
As  it  is  very  apt  to  do 

When  we  with  pains  suppress    it ; 
And  though  at  times  a  slight  remorse 
Would  raise  a  pang,  it  had  not  force 

To  make  him  yet  confess  it. 

When  on  a  day,  as  he  abroad 
Walked  by  his  mother,  in  the  road 

He  h  ard  a  skyl  rk  singing  ; 
Smit  with  the  sound,  a  flood  of  tears 
Proclaimed  the  superstitious   fears 

His  inmost  bosom  wi-inging. 

His  mother,  wondering,  saw  him  cry, 
And  fondly  asked  the  reason  why ; 

Then  Richard  made  confession. 
And  said,  he  feared  the  little  bird 
He  singing  in  the  air  had  heard 

Was  telliiig  his  transgression. 

The  words  which  Richard  spoke  below* 
As  sounds  by  nature  upwards  go. 

Were  to  the  skylark  carried  ; 
The  airy  traveller  with  smrprise 
To  hear     is  sayings,  in  the  skies 

On  his  mid  jomney  tarried. 

His  anger  then  the  bird  exprest: 
"  Sure,  since  the  day  I  left  the    est 

1  ne'er  heard  foUy  uttered 
So  fit  to  move  a  skylark's  mirth. 
As  what  this  little  son  of  earth 

Hath  in  his  crossness  muttered. 

"  Dull  fool  !  to  think  we  sons  of  air 
On  mans  low  actions  waste  a  care. 

His  V  irtues  or    is    ices  ; 
Or  soaring  on  the  summer  gales. 
That  we  should  stop  to  carr    tales 

Of  him  or  his  devices  I 


"  Our  songs  are  all  of  the  deli  jhts 
We  find  in  our  wild  airy  fli  hts. 

And  heavenly  exaltation ; 
The  earth  you  mortals  have  at  heart 
Is  all  too  gross  to  have  a  part 

In  skylarks'  conversation." 

Cliarlea  and  Mary  Lamb. 


THE    REPROOF. 

Mam.ma  heard  me  with  scorn  and  pride 

A  wretched  beggar-boy  deride. 

"  Do  you  not  know,"   said  I,    "  how 

mean 
It  is  to  be  thus  beggin  r  seen  ? 
If  for  a  week  I  were  not  fe  , 
I'm  sure  I  would  not  beg  my  br>  ad  " 
And  then  away  she  saw  me  stalk 
With  a  most  self-important  walk. 
But  meeting  1  er  upon  the  stairs. 
All  these  my  consequential  airs 
Were  changed  to  an  entreating  look. 
"  Give  me,"  said  I,  "  the  pocket-book, 
JIamma,  you  promised  I  should  have." 
The  pocket-book  t  >  me  she  gave ; 
After  reproof  and  counsel  sao;,' 
She  bade  me  write  in  the  first  page 
This  naughty  action  all  in  rh5'me  ; 
No  food  to  have  until  the  time. 
In  writing  fair  and  neatly  worded. 
The  unfeeli  g  fact  I  had  recorded. 
Slow  I  compose,  an  1  slow  I  write  ; 
And  now  I  feel  keen  hunger-bite. 
yiy  mother's  pardon  I  entreat. 
And  beg  she'll  give  me  food  to  eat. 
Dry  bread  would  be  received  with  joy 
By  her  repentant  beggar-boy. 


Charles  and  Mary  Lamb. 


MARY  AND   HER   DOG   BEATT. 

*'  Oh,  Mary  !  fie  to  teaze  your  dog. 
And  call  him  but  a  living  log. 
Because    he's    tired,    an      fain    would 

sleep ; 
Mary,  I  wish  you'd  quiet  keep" 

"  Why,  dear  mamma,  he  cannot  feel ; 
I  pinched  his  ear — 'tis  1  ard  as  steel ; 
He  (lid  not  wince,  he  did  not  cry. 
He's  stupid — so  again  I'll  try." 


58 


Poems  for  Children. 


"  Take  care,  my  child  !  nor  go  too  far  ; 
He's  kind  and  gentle — do  not  dare 
His  anger  to  provoke  ;    he'll  bite, 
And  truly,  Mary,  serve  you  right." 

*'  Not  he,  mamma  ;    he  loves  me  so, 
Whate'er  I  do,  he's  gentle  Beau." 
"  Then  which  is  kindest  of  the  two. 
The  loving,  patient  Beau,  or  you  ? 

"  You  pull  his  ears,  your  hand  he  licks. 
You  tweak  his  nose,  and  other  tricks. 
And  yet  when  yesterday  you  slept, 
A  faithful  watch  he  near  you  kept. 

"  Silent  and  quiet — did  not  move. 
But  guarded  you  with  fondest  love." 
"  Did  he  indeed  ?     Oh,  dearest  Beau, 
W  11,  this  before  I  did  not  know. 

'■  Sleep,    th?n,    my   dog,    a   calm   and 

peaceful  sleep. 
Whilst  I  a  faithful  watch  will  near  you 

keep." 

Adelaide  O'Keeffe. 


LITTLE   ROSE   AND    HER 
BOOT-LACE. 

"  Miss  Rose,  do  let  me  lace  your  boot, 
Or  you  ma     chance  to  fall : 

Here  on  my  knee,  miss,  place  your  foot." 
'•  Not  I  ;    :  11  play  at  ball !  " 

"  But  first  your  boot  pray  let  me  lace. 
Or  fall  you  will,  I'm  sure." 

"  Suppose  I  should — 'tis  no  bad  case. 
Such  falls  I  can  endure : 

"  See  I  down  I  go,  and  now  I  rise. 
And  am  as  brisk  as  ever." 

"  Not  such  a  fall,"  her  maid  replies  ; 
"  You'll  take  advice — no,  never  I  " 

Rose  played  at  ball  with  right  good  wiU, 
And  laugh'd  with  childish  glee  ; 

With  two  and  three  balls  tried  her  skill, 
Still  calUng,  "  Look  at  me  1  " 

Just  then  the  fend      f  aught  her  boot 

She  trod  upon  the  lace, 
And  loudly  shriek'd,  "  Oh,  Jan©     my 
foot !  " 

Then  fell  upon  her  face. 


An  ankle  sprain  d — a  tedious  cure. 
And  what  th  ■  cause  of  all  ? 

Advice,  which  Rose  could  not  endure, 
An  unlaced  boot,  and  game  at  ball  1 

Adelaide  O'Keeffe. 


MEMORY, 

"  Fob  gold  could  Memory  be  bought. 
What   treasures    would   she   not   be 
worth  ? 
If  from  afar  she  could  be  brought, 
I'd     travel    for    her     through     the 
earth  1  " 

This  exclamation  once  was  made 

By  one  who  had  obtained  the  name      ^ 

Of  young  forgetful  Adelaide  ;  ■} 

And  while  she  spoke,   lo  !   Memory 


If  Memory  indeed  it  were. 

Or  such  it  only  feigned  to  be — 

A  female  figure  came  to  her. 

Who  said,  "  My  name  is  Memory. 

"  Gold  purchases  in  me  no  share. 
Nor  do  I  dwell  in  distant  land  ; 

Study,  and  thou;5ht,  and  watch  ul  care. 
In  every  place  may  we  command. 

"  I  am  not  lightly  to  be  won  ; 

A  visit  only  now  I  make  : 
And  much  must  by  yourself  be  done, 

Ere  me  for  you  an  inmate  take. 

*'  The  only  substitute  for  me 
Was  ever  found,  is  called  a  pen  ; 

The  frequent  use  of  that  wi  1  be 
The  wav  to  make  me  come  a  ain." 

Charles  and  Mar/  Lamb. 


DAINTY  FRANCES.  :,, 

That  I  did  not  see  Frances  just  now  I    ■ 

am  glad. 
For  Winifred  says  she  look'd  su'len  and 

sad  ; 
When  I  ask  her  the  reason,  I  know 

very  well 
Tha'     Frances    will    blush    the    true 

reason  to  tell, 


Rhymes  for  Little  Ones. 


59 


And  I  never  again  shall  expect  to  hear 

said, 
That  she  pouts;  at  her  milk  with  a  toast 

of  white  bread  ; 
U'hen  both  are  as  good  as  can  possibly 

be, 
Tlioiigh  Betsy,  for  breakfast,  perhaps 

may  have  tea. 

Mra.  Elizabeth  Turmr. 


THE   MIMIC  HABLEQtriN. 

"  I'll  malce  believe,   and   fancy  some- 
thing strange  : 
I  will  suppose  I  have  the  power  to 

change 
And  make  things  all  unlike  to  what  they 

were, 
'i'o    jump    through    windows    and    fly 

t'  roiioh  the  air. 
And  quite  confound  all  places  and  all 

times. 
I.ike  harlequins  we  see  in  pantomimes. 
These  thread-papers  my  wooden  sword 

must  be, 
N'o  hing  more  like  one  I  at  present  see, 
Xrnl  now  all  round  this  drawing-room 

I'll  range. 
And  everything  I  look  at  I  will  change. 
Here's  Mopsa,  our  old  cat,  sliall  be  a 

bird  ; 
To  a  Poll-parrot  s'  e  is  now  transferred. 
Here's   m  mma's  work-  ag,  now  I  \\'\\\ 

engage 
To  whisk  this  little  bag  into  a  cage  ; 
And  now,  my  pretty  parrot,  get  you 

in  it. 
Another   change   I'll   show   you   in   a 

minute. 
"  Oh,   fie !    you  naughty   child,   what 

have  you  done  ? 
There  never  was  so  mischievous  a  son. 
You've  put  the  cat  among  my  work, 

and  torn 
A  fine  laced  cap  that  I  but  once  have 

worn." 


Charles  and  Mary  Lamb. 


FOOIilSH    EMILY    AND    HER 

KITTEN. 

"  Why  not  open  your  eyes, 
And  1  ok  with  surprise 
Around,  up  and  down,  and  on  us  7 


And  Avhy  won't  you  ate. 
And  look  upon  me  ? 
Come,  open  your  eyes,  little  puss  1 

"  I  know  you  can  peep, 

For  you're  not  asleep. 
You  cry  after  mother  so  loud  ; 

Your  eyes  I've  not  seen. 

Are  they  blue,  red,  or  green  T 
I  fear  you  are  sullcy  a  d  proud  1 

"  And  if  you  will  not 

On  this  very  spot 
Lift  your  •yelids  and  look  upon  me, 

I'll  open  them  quick. 

Whilst  my  hand     on  may  lick, 
And  soon  then  my  kitten  will  see  !  " 

But  her  brother  cried,  "  Hold  !  " 

And  must  you  be  told 
That  kittens,  hke  pups,  are  born  blind 

You  silly  young  child," 

He  said  as  he  smiled, 
"  Be  patient,  and  if  you  are  kind, 

"  Not  many  days  hence 

That  precious  dear  sense 
Of  siirht  will  your  kitten  enjoy,— 

Then  let  it  alone, 

Altho'   'tis   your  own. 
Or  its  eyes  you  will  surely  destroy." 

Altho'   'twas  her  own 

She  let  it  alone. 
But  watch'd  every  day  if  'twas  true. 

And  often  she  sighed, 

But  one  morning  she  cried, 
''  Oh,  look  at  its  eyes  of  bright  blue  !  " 

Adelaide  G'Keeffe. 


MISS  SOPHIA. 

JIiss  Sophy,  one  fine  sunny  day. 
Left  her  work  and  ran  away  ; 
When  soon  she  reach'd  the  garden-gate. 
Which  finding  lock'd,  she  would  not  wait. 
But  tried  to  climb  and  scramble  o'er 
A  gate  as  higli  as  any  door. 

But  little  girls  should  never  climb. 
And  Sophy  won't  another  time  ; 
For  when  upon  the  highest  rail, 
Her  frock  was  caught  upon  a  nail. 
She  lost  her  head,  and,  sad  to  tell. 
Was  hurt  and  bruised — for  down  she 
feU. 

Mrs.   Elizabeth  Turner. 


60 


Poems  for  Children. 


NIMBIiE    DICK. 

My  boy,  be  cool,  do  things  by  rule, 
And  then  you'll  do  them  right ; 

A  story  true  I'll  teU  to  you 
'Tis  of  a  luckless  wight. 

He'd  never  wait,  was  ever  late. 

Because  he  was  so  quick. 
This  shatter-brain  did  thus  obtain 

The  name  of  Nimble  Dick. 

All  in  his  best  young  Dick  was  drest. 
Cries  he,  "I'm  very  dry  !  " 

Though  s'lass  and  jug,  and  china  mug, 
On  sideboard  stood  hard  by — 

With  skip  and  jump  unto  the  pump. 
With  open  mouth  he  goes  ; 

The  water  out  ran  from  the  spout^ 
And  wetted  aU  his  clothes. 

AU  in  dispatch  he  made  a  match 

To  run  a  race  with  Bill ; 
"  My  boy,"  said  he,  "  I'll  win,  you'll 
see  ; 

I'U  beat  you,  that  I  will." 

With  merry  heart,  now  off  they  start. 
Like  ponies  in  fuU  speed  ; 

Soon  Bill  he  pass'd,  for  very  fast 
This  Dicky  ran  indeed. 

But  hurry  all,  Dick  got  a  fall. 
And  whilst  he  sprawUng  lay, 

BiU  reached  the  post,  and  Dicky  lost. 
And  BiUy  won  the  day. 

"  Bring  here  my  pad,"  now  cries  the 
lad 

Unto  the  servant  John ; 
"  I'll  mount  astride,  this  day  I'll  ride. 

So  put  the  saddle  on." 

No  time  to  waste,   'twas   brought  in 
haste, 

Dick  long'd  to  have  it  back'd  ; 
With  spur  and  boot  on  leg  and  foot. 

His  whip  he  loudly  cracked. 

The    mane    he    grasped,    the    crupper 
clasped. 

And  leaped  up  from  the  ground, 
All  smart  and  spruce  :  the  girt  was  loose. 

He  turned  the  saddle  round. 


Then   down  he  came,   the  scofiE   and 
shame 

Of  all  the  standers  by  ; 
Poor  Dick,  alack  !  upon  his  back. 

Beneath  the  horse  did  lie. 

Still  slow  and  sure,  success  secure. 

And  be  not  over  quick  ; 
For  method's  sake,  a  warning  take 

From  hasty  Nimble  Dick. 

Addaide  O'Keeffe. 


THE     STOBT    OP     ATJGtTSTTJS 

WHO  WOULD   NOT  HAVE 

ANY  SOUP. 

Atjgusttts  was  a  chubby  lad  ; 
Fat  ruddy  cheeks  Augustus  had  | 
And  every  body  saw  with  joy. 
The  plump  and  hearty  healthy  boy. 
He  ate  and  drank  as  he  was  told, 
And  never  let  his  soup  get  cold. 
But  one  day,  one  cold  winter's  day. 
He    scream'd    out — "  Take    the    soup 
away  ! 

0  take  the  nasty  soup  away  ! 

1  won't  have  any  soup  to-day  !  " 

How  lank  and  lean  Augustus  grows  ! 
Next  day  he  scarcely  fills  his  clothes, 
Yet,  though  he  feels  so  weak  and  ill. 
The  naughty  fellow  cries  out  still — 
*'  Not  any  soup  for  me,  I  say  : 

0  take  the  nasty  soup  away  ! 

1  won't  have  any  soup  to-day  !  " 

The  third  day  comes  ;  oh  !  what  a  sin  ! 
To  make  himself  so  pale  and  thin. 
Yet,  when  the  soup  is  put  on  table, 
He  screams,  as  loud  as  he  is  able, 
"  Not  any  soup  for  me,  I  say  : 

0  take  the  nasty  soup  away  ! 

1  won't  have  any  soup  to-day  !  " 

Look   at  him,   now  the   fourth   day's 

come  ! 
He  scarcely  weighs  a  sugar-plum ; 
He's  like  a  little  bit  of  thread. 
And  on  the  fifth  day  he  was — dead  ! 

Dr.  Heinrich  Hoffmann. 


Rhymes   for  Little   Ones. 


61 


GREEDY    RICHARD. 

"  I    THINK    I    want    some    pies    this 

morning," 
Said     Dicii,     stretching    himself    and 

yawning ; 
So  down  he  threw  his  slate  and  books. 
And  saunter' d  to  the  pastry-cook's. 

And  there  he  cast  his  greedy  eyes 
Ki)und  on  the  jellies  and  the  pies, 
So  to  select,  M'ith  anxious  care, 
The  very  nicest  that  was  there. 

At  last  the  point  was  thus  decided. 
As  his  opinion  was  divided 
L'wixt  pie  and  jelly,  he  was  loath 
llither  to  leave,  so  took  them  both. 

Xow  Richard  never  could  be  pleased 
I'o  stop  when  hunger  was  appeased. 
Hut  would  go  on  to  eat  and  stuff 
Long  after  he  had  had  enough. 

"  I  shan't  take  any  more,"  said  Dick : 
"  Dear  me,  I  feel  extremely  sick: 
I  cannot  eat  this  other  bit ; 
I  wish  I  had  not  tasted  it." 

Tiien  slowly  rising  from  his  seat, 
He  threw  the  cheesecake  in  the  street, 
And  left  the  tempting  pastry-cook's 
\\'ith  very  discontented  looks. 

Just  then  a  man  with  wooden  leg 
Met  Dick,  and  held  his  hat  to  beg  ; 
And  while  he  told  his  mournful  case 
Look'd  at.  him  with  imploring  face. 

Dick,  wishing  to  relieve  his  pain. 

His  pockets  search'd,  but  search'd  in 

vain  ; 
And  so  at  last  he  did  declare, 
He  had  not  got  a  farthing  there. 

The  beggar  turn'd  with  face  of  grief, 
And  look  of  patient  unbehef, 
While  Richard,  now  completely  tamed. 
Felt  inconceivably  ashamed. 

"  I  wish,"  said  he  (but  wishing's  vain), 
"  I  had  my  money  back  again. 
And  had  not  spent  my  last  to  pay 
For  what  I  only  threw  away. 


"  Another  time  I'll  take  advice, 
And  not  buy  things   because  they're 

nice  ; 
But  rather  save  my  little  store. 
To  give  poor  folks,  who  want  it  more. 

Jane  Taylor. 

THE    PTJRLOINER. 

As  Joe  was  at  play, 

Near  the  cubpoard  one  day. 
When  he  thought  no  one  saw  but  him- 
self. 

How  sorry  I  am. 

He  ate  raspberry  jam. 
And  currants  that  stood  on  the  shelf. 

His  mother  and  John 

To  the  garden  had  gone. 
To  gather  ripe  pears  and  ripe  plums  ; 

What  Joe  was  about 

His  mother  found  out. 
When   she  looked   at  his  fingers  and 
thumbs : 

And  when  they  had  dined 

Said  to  Joe,  "  You  will  tind. 
It  is  better  to  leave  things  alone  ; 

These  plums  and  these  pears 

No  naughty  boy  shares 
Who  meddles  with  fruit  not  his  own." 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  Turner. 

JAMES  AND    THE   SHOULDER 
OF  MUTTON". 

Young   Jem   at   noon   return'd   from 
school. 

As  hungry  as  could  be  ; 
He  cried  to  Sue,  the  servant  maid, 

"  My  dinner  give  to  me." 

Said  Sue,  "  It  is  not  yet  come  home  ; 

Besides,  it  is  not  late  "  ; 
"  No  matter  that,"  cries  little  Jem, 

"I  do  not  like  to  wait." 

Quick  to  the  baker's  Jemmy  went. 
And  ask'd,   "  Is  dinner  done  ?  " 

*'  It  is,"  replied  the  baker's  man. 
"  Then  home  I'll  with  it  run." 

"  Nay,  Sir,"  replied  he  prudently, 

"  I  tell  you  'tis  too  hot. 
And  much  too  heavy  'tis  for  you." 

"  I  I  ell  you  it  is  not. 


62 


Poems  for  Children. 


"  Papa,  mamma,  are  both  gone  out. 

And  I  for  dinner  long  ; 
yo  give  it  me — it  is  all  mine. 

And,  baker,  hold  your  tongue  I 

"A  shoulder  'tis  of  mutton  nice  I 

And  batter-pudding  too  ; 
I'm  glad  of  that,  it  is  so  good ; 

How  clever  is  our  Sue  !  " 

Xow   near  his  door  young  Jem   was 
come. 

He  round  the  corner  turn'd  ; 
But  oh,  sad  fate  !  unlucky  chance  ! 

The  dish  his  fingers  burn'd. 

Low  in  the  kennel  down  fell  dish. 
And  down  fell  aU  the  meat ; 

Swift  went  the  pudding  in  the  stream, 
And  sail'd  along  the  street. 

The   people   laugh'd,    and   rude   boys 
grinn'd, 
At  mutton's  hapless  fall ; 
But   though   asham'd,   young   Jemmy 
cri3d — 
"  Better  lose  part  than  all." 

The  shoulder  by  the  knuckle  seiz'd, 
His  hands  both  grasp'd  it  fast, 

And  deaf  to  all  their  gibes  and  cries, 
He  gain'd  his  home  at  last. 

"  Impatience  is  a  fault,"  cries  Jem ; 

"  I'he  baker  told  me  true  ; 
In  future  I  will  patient  be. 

And  mind  what  says  our  Sue." 

Adelaide  O'KeejSe. 


THE    GREEDY    BOY. 

Sammy  ^  mith  would  drink  and  eat 
From  morning  unto  night ; 

He  filled  his  mouth  so  full  of  meat, 
It  was  a  shameful  sight. 

Sometimes  he  gave  a  book  or  toy 
For  apples,  cake,  or  plum  ; 

And  grudged  if  any  other  boy 
Should  taste  a  single  crumb. 

Indeed,  he  ate  and  drank  so  fast. 
And  used  to  stuff  and  cram, 

The  name  they  call'd  him  by  at  last. 
Was  often  Greedy  Sam. 

Mfs.  Elizabeth  7  urner. 


POISONOUS    FBUIT. 

As  Tommy  and  his  sister  Jane 
Were  walking  down  a  shady  lane. 
They  saw  some  berries,  bright  and  red. 
That  hung  around  and  overhead. 

And  soon  the  bough  they  bended  down, 
To  make  the  scarlet  fruit  their  own  ; 
And  part  they  ate,  and  part  in  play 
They  threw  about  and  flung  away. 

But  long  they  had  not  been  at  home 
Before  poor  Jane  and  little  Tom 
Were  taken,  sick  and  iU,  to  bed. 
And  since,  I've  heard,  they  both  are 
dead. 

Alas  !  had  Tommy  understood 
That  fruit  in  lanes  is  seldom  gool, 
He  might  have  walked  with  little  Jane 
Again  along  the  shady  lane. 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  Turner. 


MISCHIEF. 

Let  those  who're  fond  of  idle  tricks. 
Of    throwing    stones,     and     breaking 
bricks, 

And  all  that  sort  of  fun. 
Now  hear  a  tale  of  idle  Jim, 
That  they  may  warning  take  by  him, 

Nor  do  as  he  has  done. 

In  harmless  sport  or  healthful  play. 
He  never  passed  his  time  away. 

He  took  no  pleasure  in  it ; 
For  mischief  was  his  only  joy ; 
Nor  book,  nor  work,  nor  even  toy 

Could  please  him  for  a  minute. 

A  neighbour's  house  he'd  slily  pass, 
And  throw  a  stone  to  break  the  glass. 

And  then  enjoy  the  joke  ; 
Or,  if  a  window  open  stood. 
He'd  throw  in  stones,  or  bits  of  wood. 

To  frighten  all  the  folk. 

If  travellers  passing  chanced  to  st«y 
Of  idle  Jim  to  ask  the  way. 

He  never  told  them  right ; 
And  then  quite  hardened  in  his  sin. 
Rejoiced  to  see  them  taken  in. 

And  laughed  with  all  his  might. 


I 


Rhymes   for  Little   Ones. 


63 


](("'(1  tie  a  string  across  the  street, 
'J'liat  it  might  catch  the  people's  feet. 

And  make  tlicm  tumble  down  ; 
Indeed,  he  was  disliked  so  much. 
That  no  good  boy  would  play  with  such 

A  nuisance  in  the  town. 

At  last  the  neighbours,  in  despair, 

(  ould  all  these  tricks  no  longer  bear : 

[n  short  (to  end  the  tale), 
I'lie  lad  was  cured  of  all  his  ways, 
One  time  by  spending  a  few  days 

Inside  the  county  jail. 

Jane.  Taylor. 


THE   LITTLE  FISHERMAN. 

TiiKRE  was  a  little  fellow  once. 

And  Harry  was  his  name  ; 
And  many  a  naughty  trick  had  he — 

I  tell  it  to  his  shame. 

He  minded  not  his  friends'  advice. 
But  follow'd  his  own  wishes  ; 

And  one  most  cruel  trick  of  his, 
Was  that  of  catching  fishes. 

His  father  had  a  little  pond, 
\Vhere  often  Harry  went ; 

And  in  this  most  inhuman  sport. 
He  many  an  ev'ning  spent. 


THE    STORY   OF   CRTJEL 
FREDERICK. 

I !  ERE  is  cruel  Frederick,  see  1 

.\  horrid  wicked  boy  was  he : 

lie  caught  the  flies,  poor  little  things, 

.\nd  then  tore  off  their  tiny  wings  ; 

lie    killed   the   birds,    and   broke   the 

chairs. 
And  threw  the  kitten  down  the  stairs  ; 
.\nd  oh  !  far  worse  than  all  beside. 
He  whipp'd  his  Mary  till  she  cried. 

The  trough  was  full,  and  faithful  Tray 
Came  out  to  dr-ink  one  sultry  day; 
He  wagged  his  tail,  and  wet  his  hp, 
When  cruel  Fred  snatched  up  a  whij), 
\nd  whipped  poor  Tray  till  he  was  sore. 
And  kicked  and  whipped  liim  more  and 

more  : 
At  this  good  Tray  grew  very  red. 
And  growled  and  bit  him  till  he  bled  ; 
Then  you  should  only  iiave  been  by 
To  see  how  Fred  did  scream  and  cr\-  ! 
So  Frederick  had  to  go  to  bed  ; 
His  leg  was  very  sore  and  red  ! 
The  doctor  came  and  shook  his  head 
And  made  a  very  great  to-do. 
And  gave  him  nasty  p  ysic  too. 

But  good  dog  Tray  is  happy  now  ; 
Ke  has  no  time  to  say  "  bow-wow  !   ' 
He  seats  himself  in  Frederick's  chair 
And  laughs  to  see  the  nice  things  there  : 
'i'he  soup  he  swallows,  sup  by  sup — 
And  eats  the  pies  and  puddings  up. 

ZV.  Heinrie'i  Hoffinann. 


One  day  he  took  his  hook  and  bait. 

And  hurried  to  the  pond, 
And  there  began  the  cruel  game, 

Of  which  he  was  so  fond. 

And  many  a  little  fish  he  cauglit. 
And  pleas'd  was  he  to  look, 

To  see  them  writhe  in  agony, 
And  struggle  on  the  hook. 

At  last,  when  having  caught  enough. 

And  tired,  too,  himself. 
He  hasten'd  home,  intending  there 

To  put  them  on  a  shelf. 

But  as  he  jump'd  to  reach  a  dish. 

To  put  his  fishes  in, 
A  large  meat  hook,  that  hung  close  by. 

Did  catch  him  by  the  chin. 

Poor  Harry  kick'd  and  call'd  aloud, 
And  screara'd  and  cried,  and  roar'd. 

While  from  his  wound  the  crimson  blood 
In  dreadful  torrents  pour'd. 

Tlu'   miids   came  running,   frightened 
much 
To  see  him  hanging  there. 
And    soon   they   took   him    from   the 
hook. 
And  .sat  him  in      chair. 

Tiic    3U"i:eon    came    and    stopp'd    the 
blood. 

And  up  he  bound  his  head  ; 
And  then  they  carried  him  up  stairs, 

And  laid  him  on  his  bed. 


64 


Poems  for  Children. 


Conviction  darted  on  his  mind, 

As  groaning  there  he  lay, 
He  with  remorse  and  pity  thought 

About  his  cruel  play. 

"  And  oh  !  "  said  he,  "  poor  Uttle  fish, 
What  tortures  you  have  borne  ; 

While  I,  well  pleas'd,  have  stood  to  see 
Their  tender  bodies  torn  ; 


While  Lucy  was  young,  had  she  bridled 
her  tongue, 
With  a  httle  good  sense  and  exertion. 
Who  knows  but  she  might  now  have 
been  our  delight. 
Instead  of  our  jest  and  aversion  ? 

Jam  Taylor. 


"  0  !  what  a  wicked  boy  I've  been. 
Such  torments  to  bestow  ; 

Well  I  deserve  the  pain  I  feel, 
Since  1  cou'd  serve  them  so: 

"  But  now  I  know  how  great  the  smart, 

How  terrible  the  pain  ! 
As  long  as  I  can  ]td  myself, 

I'll  never  fish  again." 

Jane.  Taylor. 


THE    CHATTEBBOX. 

From  morning  till  night  it  was  Lucy's 
delight, 
To  chatter  and  talk  without  stopping ; 
There  was  not  a  day  but  she  rattled 
away. 
Like  water  for  ever  a  dropping  ! 

No  matter  at  all  if  the  subject  were 

small. 

Or  not  worth  the  trouble  of  saying, 

'Twas  equal  to  her,  she  would  talking 

prefer, 

To  working,  or  reading,  or  playing. 

You'll  think  now,  perhaps,  that  there 
would  have  been  gaps 
If    she    had    not    l:een    wonderfully 
clever  ; 
That  her  sense  was  so  great,  and  so 
witty  her  pate 
It  would  be  forthcoming  for  ever. 

But  that's  quite  absurd,  for,  have  you 
not  heard. 
That  much  tongue  and  few  brain-;  are 
connected ; 
That  they  are  su  posed  to  think  least 
wlio  ta  k  most 
And    their    wisdom    is    always   sus- 
pected ? 


THE  WOEM. 

As  Sally  sat  upon  the  ground, 
A  little  crawling  worm  she  found 

A  mo  g  the  garden  dirt ; 
And    when    she    saw    the    worm    she 

scream' d. 
And  ran  away    and  cried,  and  seem'd 

As  if  she  had  been  hurt. 

Mamma,  afraid  some  serious  harm 
Made  Sally  scream,  was  in  alarm. 

And  left  the  parlour  then ; 
But  when  the  cause  she  came  to  learn, 
She  bade  her  daughter  back  return. 

To  see  the  worm  again. 

The  worm    they  found    kept  writhing 

round, 
Until  it  sank  beneath  the  ground  ; 

And  Sally  learned  that  day. 
That  worms  are  very  harmless  things, 
With    neither    teeth,    nor    claws,    nor 
stings 
To  frighten  her  away. 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  2'urner. 


THROWING   STONES. 

Little  Tom  Jones 

Would  often  throw  stones. 
And  often  he  had  a  good  waining ; 

And  now  I  will  tell 

What  Tommy  befell, 
From  his  rudeness  one  fine  summer's 


He  was  taking  the  air 

Upon   Trinity   Square, 
And,    aa   usual,    lar  e   stones    he   was 
jerkins  ; 

Till  ;  t  length  a  hard,  cinder 

Went  plump  through  a  window 
Where  a  party  of  ladies  were  working. 


Rhymes  for  Little   Ones. 


65 


Tom's  aunt,  when  in  to^vn, 
Had  left  h  If  a  crovm 
For  her  nephew  (her  name  was  Mi33 
Frazier), 
WTiich  he  thought  to  have  spent. 
But  now  it  all  \\cnt 
(And  it  served  him  quite  riglit    to  tlie 
glazier. 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  Turner. 


And  tlien  they  skip  and  then  they  run  I 
The  black-a-moor  enjoys  the  fun. 
They  have  been  made  as  black  as  crows. 
Quite  black  all  over,  eyes    nd  nose. 
And  legs  and  arms  and  heads  and  toes. 
And  trousers,  pinafores  and  toys, — 
The  silly  little  inky  boys  ! 
Because  they  set  up  su  h  a  roar. 
And  teas'd  the  harmless  black-a-moor. 

Dr.  Heinrich  Ho/Jmtnn. 


THE   STORY  OF  THE  INKY 
BOYS. 

As  he  had  often  done  before, 
The  Woolly-headed  black-a-moor 
One  nice  fine  summer's  day  w.nt  out 
To  see  the  shops  and  walk  about ; 
And  as  he  found  it  hot,  poor  fellow. 
He  took  with  him  his  gi'een  umbrella. 
Then  Edward,  little  noisy  wag, 
Ran  out  and  laughed,  and  waved  his 

flag; 
And  William  came  in  jacket  trim 
And   brought  his   wooden   hoop   with 

him  ; 
And  Arthur,  too,  snatched  up  his  toys 
And  joined  the  other  naughty  boys ; 
So,  one  and  aU  set  up  a  roar 
And   laughed    and   hooted   more   and 

more. 
And  kept  on  singing — only  think  ! — 
"  Oh  !  Blacky,  you're  as  black  as  ink." 

Now  tall  Agrippa  lived  close  by — 

So  taU  he  almost  reached  the  sky  ; 

He  had  a  mighty  inkstand  too. 

In  which  a  great  goose-feather  grew ; 

He  call'd  out  in  an  angry  tone: 

"  Boys,  leave  the  black-a-moor  alone  ! 

For  if  he  tries  with  all  his  might. 

He  cannot  change  from  black  to  white." 

But  ah  !  they  did  not  mind  a  bit 

What  great  Agrippa  said  of  it ; 

But  went  on  laughing  as  before. 

And  hooting  at  the  black-a-moor. 

Then  gre  t  Agrippa  foams  with  rage, 
(Oh  !  could  I  draw  him  on  this  page  ! ) 
He  seizes  Arthur,  seizes  Ned, 
Takes  William  by  his  little  head  ; 
And  they  may  scream  and  kick  and  call. 
Into  the  ink  he  dips  them  all ; 
Into  the  inkstand,  one,  two,  three, 
Till  they  are  black  as  black  can  be ; 


I  WILL. 

"  I  WILL  go  out,"  Louisa  cried, 
"  No  matter  for  the  rain  ; 

I  will  not  always  be  denied, 
I  tell  you  so  again." 

"Wait  till  to-morrow,"  Patty  said, 
"  And  then  the  sun  may  shine  ;  " 

Louisa  heeded  not  the  maid, 
But  3  id  "  It  then  was  fine." 

Away  she  went,  a  shower  came  on, 
And  wet  her  hat  all  o'er ; 

It  was  not  fit  to  look  upon. 
Though  new  the  day  before 

Mamma  no  other  will  allow ; 

And,  when  her  child  complains. 
Answers,  "  You  had  your  will,  and 

Must  wear  this  for  your  pains." 

Mary  Elliott. 


THE    TEITANT. 

Children  who  delight  to  ramble 

When  it  is  not  holiday. 
And  o'er  hedge  and  ditch  to  scramble 

All  for  love  of  truant  play ; 

Must  have  tasks  and  lessons  doublo 
To  make  up  for  time  misspent ; 

And,  besides  this  double  trouble. 
Must  have  proper  punishment. 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  Turner. 


DANGEROUS    SPORT. 

Poor  Peter  was  burnt  by  a  poker  one 
day. 
When  he  made  it  look  pretty  and  red  ; 


66 


Poems   for  Children. 


or   the    beautiful    sparks    made    him 

thin     it  fine  play, 
To  lift  it  as  high  as  his  head. 

But  somehow  it   happen'd;  his   finger 
and  thumb 
Were  terribly  scorched  by  the  heat ; 
Anl   he   scream'd   out   aloud   for   his 
mother  to  come, 
And  stamp'd  on  the  floor  with  his 
feet. 

Now,  if  Peter  had  minded  his  mother's 
command. 
His  fingers  would  not  have  been  sore  : 
And  he  promised  again,  as  she  bound 
up  his  hand, 
To  play  with  hot  pokers  no  more. 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  Turner. 


THE  CBUEL  BOY. 

Jack  Parker  was  a  cruel  boy, 
For  mischief  was  his  sole  employ  ; 
And  much  it  grieved  his  friends  to  find 
His  thoughts  so  wickedly  inclined. 

He  thought  it  clever  to  deceive. 
And  often  rambled  without  leave  ; 
And  ev'ry  animal  he  met 
He  dearly  loved  to  plague  and  fret. 

But  all  such  boys,  unless  they  mend, 
May  come  to  an  unhappy  end. 
Like  Jack,  who  got  a  fracture  1  skull 
Whilst  bellowing  at  a  furious  bull. 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  Turner. 


THE  STOBY  OF  LITTLE  SUCK- 
A-THUMB. 

One  day.  Mamma  said,  "  Conrad,  dear, 
I  must  go  out  and  leave  y  u  here. 
But  mi  .d  now,  Conrad,     hat  I  say. 
Don't  suck  your  thumb  while  I'm  away. 
The  great  tall  tailor  always  comes 
To  little  boys  that  suck  their  thumbs  ; 
And  ere  they  dream  what  he's  about, 
He  takes  his  great  sharp  scissors  out 
And  cuts  their  thumbs  clean  off,  and 

then 
You  know,  thev  never  grow  again." 

Mamma  had  scarcely  turned  her  back 
The  thumb  was  in,  Alack,  Alack  ! 

The  door  flew  open,  in  he  ran, 
The  great,  long,  red-legged  scissor-man. 
Oh  !  children,  see  !  the  tailor's  come 
And  caught  out  little  Suck-a-Thumb. 
Knip  !  Snap  !  Snip  the  scissors  go  ; 
And  Conrad  cries  out,  Oh  !  oh  !  oh  ! 
Snip  !  Snap  !  Snip  !  They  go  so  fast 
'I'hat  both  his  thumbs  are  off  at  last. 

Mamma  comes   home  ;    there   Conrad 

stands, 
And  looks  quite  sad,   and  shows  his 

hands — 
"  Ah  !  "  said  Mamma,   "  I  knew  he'd 

come 
To  naughty  Httle  Suck-a-Thumb." 

Dr   Heinrich  Hoffmann. 


LITTLE   BOY  AND    HOOP. 

One  time  I  knew  a  little  Boj^, 

So  very  fond  of  play. 
He  woukl  not  leave  a  new-seen  toy 

For  all  that  Nurse  could  say. 

One  day  a  Hoop,  quite  new  and  nice. 
Was  brought  him  from  the  fair  ; 

Away  he  scampered  in  a  trice. 
Forgetting  how  and  where. 

Now  Nurse  had  dress'd  him  very  neat; 

His  shoes  quite  new  he  wore  ; 
His  trousers  white,  his  dress  complete. 

With  buckled  belt  before. 

He  struck  his  hoop  ;   away  it  went — 
He  struck  it  round  and  round, — 

To  watch  the  hoop  his  eyes  were  bent. 
Nor  saw  the  sloping  ground. 

How  lucky  for  that  idle  child. 
The  Gardener  near  the  stream 

Marked   how   this   play  his   steps   be- 
guiled. 
And  heard  his  plunging  scream. 

With  hasty  steps  the  Gardener  ran, 
And  snatched  the  sinking  boj-. 

Who  soon  had  perished,  but  tbe  .Man 
Knew  well  the  treacherous  toy. 

Hoops,  in  their  proper  time  and  place. 

Are  V  cod  and  fit  for  play  ; 
But  'tis  not  safe,  in  any  case. 
Near  water's  brink  to  sta 


Rhymes  for  Little  Ones. 


G' 


THE   liAST   NEW   DOLL. 

Sophia  begg'd  her  sister,  Grace, 
The  last  new  doll  to  bring  ; 

And  show'd  a  pretty  bit  of  lace. 
To  dress  the  little  thing. 

It  would,  she  thought,  go  round  its  cap  ; 

Indeed,  for  that  'twas  bought ; 
Careful  she  laid  it  in  her  lap. 

Till  Grace  the  baby  brought. 

Grace  soon  came  back,  and  in  her  arms 
A  doll  that  once  was  new ; 

But  ah  !  quite  faded  were  its  charms, 
Quite  frightful  to  the  view. 

• 
"  This  your  new  doll  ?  "  Sophia  cries, 

"  You  make  me  blush,  dear  Grace  ; 
More  careful  must  you  be,  and  wise, 

Before  I  give  my  lace." 

Mary  Elliot. 


FEIGNED  COURAGE. 

IToRATio,  of  ideal  courage  vain, 
\Vas  fiourishing  in  air  his  father's  cane. 
And,  as  the  fumes  of  valour  swelled  his 

pate, 
X<,)w    thought   himself  this   hero,    and 

now  that  : 
'■  And  now,"  he  cried,  "  I  will  Achilles 

be; 
My  sword  I  brandish  ;  see,  the  Trojans 

"flee  ! 
Now  I'll  be   Hector,   when   his   angry 

i)lade 
A   lane  thi'ough   heaps  of  slaughtered 

(Jrecians   made  ! 
And    now    by    deeds    still    braver    I'll 

evince 
I  am  no  less  than  Edward  the  Black 

Prince. 
Give   way,   ye   coward  French  !  "     As 

thus  he  spoke. 
And  aimed  in  fancy  a  sufficient  stroke 
To  fi.x  the  fate  of  Cressy  or  Poictiers 
(The  Muse  relates  the  hero's  fate  with 

tears)  ; 
He  struck  his  milk-white  hand    against 

a  nail, 
Sees  his  own  blood,  and  feela  his  courage 

fail. 


Ah  !  where  is  now  that  boasted  valour 

flown. 
That  in  the   tented   field  so  late   was 

shown  ! 
Achilles  weeps.  Great  Hector  hangs  his 

liead. 
And  the  Black  Prince  goes  whimper^ 

to  bed. 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamb 


DEAWING  TEETH. 

Miss  Lucy  Wright,  though  not  so  tall, 
^JAS  just  the  age  of  Sophy  Ball ; 
Wft  I  have  always  understood. 
Miss  Sophy  was  not  half  so  good  ; 
For  as  they  both  had  faded  teeth, 
Their  teacher  sent  for  Doctor  Heath  ; 
But  Sophy  made  a  dreadful  rout. 
And  would  not  have  hers  taken  out ; 
But  Lucy  Wright  endur'd  the  pain, 
Nor  did  she  ever  once  complain  ; 
Her   teeth  returned   quite  sound   and 

white. 
While    Sophy's    ached    both    day    and 

night. 

Mrs    Elizaheth  Turner. 


GOING  TO  BED. 

The  babe  was  in  the  cradle  laid. 
And  Tom  had  said  his  prayers. 

When  Frances  told  the  nursery-maid 
She  would  not  go  upstairs. 

She  cried  so  loud,  her  mother  came 

To  ask  the  reason  w  hy  ; 
And    said,     "  Oh,     Frances,     fie !    for 
shame  ! 

Oh,  fie  !  oh,  fie  !  oh,  fie  !  " 

But  Frances  was  more  naughty  still. 

And  Betty  sadly  nipp'd  ; 
Until  her  Mother  said,  "  I  will — ■ 

I  must  have  Frances  whipp'd." 

For,  oh  !  how  naughty  'tis  to  cry. 
But  worse,  much  ^^orse  to  fight, 

Instead  of  running  readily. 
And  calling  out.  Good-night ! 


Airs.  Elizabeth  Turner. 

5* 


68 


Poems  for  Children. 


bancl'n 


BEEAKFAST. 

A  DINNER  party,  coffee,  tea, 
Sandwich,  or  supper — all  may  be 
,eir  way  pteBSant.     B-ut  to  me 
ne  of  these  deserves  the  praise 
it  wel  comer  of  new-bom  days, 
breakfast,  merits  ;    ever  giving 
Cheerful  notice  we  are  living 
Another  day  refreshed  by  sleep 
When  its  festival  we  keep. 
Now  altliough  I  would  not  slight 
Those   kindly  words  we  use,    "  Good- 
night," 
Yet  parting  words  are  words  of  sorrow. 
And  may  not  vie  with  sweet  "  Good- 
morrow," 
With  which  again  our  friends  we  g 
When  in  the  breakfast-room  we  m  et. 
At  the  social  table  round. 
Listening  to  the  lively  sound 
Of  those  notes  which  never  tire. 
Of  urn,  or  kettle  on  the  fire. 

Sleepy  Robert  never  hears 
Of  urn  or  kettle  ;   he  appears 
When  all  have  finished,  one  by  one 
Dropping  off,  and  breakfast  done. 
Yet  has  he,  too,  his  own  pleasure. 
His     breakfast     hour's     his     hour     of 

leisnre  ; 
And,  left  alone,  he  reads  or  muses. 
Or  else  in  idle  mood  he  uses 
To  sit  and  watch  the  venturous  fly. 
Where  the  sugar's  piled  high. 
Clambering  o'er    the  humps  so  white. 
Rocky  cliffs  of  sweet  delight. 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamb. 


THE  TWO  BOYS. 

I  SAW  a  boy  with  eager  eye 
Open  a  book  upon  a  stall, 
And  read  as  he'd  devour  it  aU  ; 
Wliich,  when  the  stall-man  did  espj'. 
Soon  to  the  boy  I  heard  him  call : 
"  You,  sir,  you  never  buy  a  book, 
Therefore  in  one  you  shall  not  look." 
The  boy  passed  slowly  on,  and  with  a 

sigh 
He  wished  he  never  had  been  taught 

to  read. 
Then  of  the  old  churl's  books  he  should 

have  had  no  need. 


Of  sufferings  the  poor  have  many, 
Which  never  can  the  rich  annoy. 
I  soon  perceived  another  boy 
Who  looked  as  if  he'd  not  had  any 
Food  for  that  day  at  least,  enjoy 
The  sight  of  cold  meat  in  a  tavern- 
larder. 
This  boy's  case,    thought  I,  is  surely 

harder. 
Thus  hungry  longing,  thus  without  a 

penny. 
Beholding    choice    of    dainty    dressed 

meat : 
No    wonder  if   he   wish   he  ne'er   had 
learned  to  eat. 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamh. 


NE  AND  ElilZA. 

There    were    two   little   girls   neither 

handsome  nor  plain, 
One's  name  was  Eliza,  the  other's  was 

Jane  ;        |||^ 
They  were  both  of  one  height,  as  I've 

heard  people  say,  , 

And  both  of  one^J|6»^I  believe,  to  a 

day. 

'Twas   thought   by   some   people   who 

slightly  had  seen  them. 
There    was    not    a    pin    to    be    chosen 

between  them  ; 
But   no   one    for   long   in   this   notion 

persisted. 
So    great    a    distinction    there    really 

existed. 

Eliza  knew  well  that  she  could  not  be 
pleasing, 

Wiile  fretting  and  fuming,  while  sulk- 
ing or  teasing  ; 

And  therefore  in  company  artfully 
tried, 

Not  to  break  her  bad  habits,  but  onlj' 
to  hide. 

So,  when  she  was  out,  with  much 
labour  and  pain. 

She  contrived  to  look  almost  as  pleas- 
ing as  JaTie  ; 

But  then  you  might  see  that,  in  forcing 
a  smile. 

Her  mouth  was  uneasy,  and  ached  all 
the  while. 


Rhymes  for  Little  Ones. 


69 


But  in  spite  of  her  care  it  would  some- 
times befall 

That  some  cross  event  happened  to 
ruin  it  all ; 

And  because  it  might  chance  that  her 
share  was  the  ^vor3t, 

Her  temper  broke  loose,  and  her 
dimples  dispersed. 

But  Jane, who  had  nothing  she  wanted 

to  hide. 
And  tlierefore  these  troublesome  arts 

never  tried, 
Had  none  of  the  care  and  fatigue  of 

concealing, 
But  her  face  always  showed  what  her 

bosom  was  feeling. 

The  smiles  that  upon  her  sweet  coun- 
tenance were. 

At  home  or  abroad  they  were  constantly 
there  ; 

And  Eliza  worked  hard,  but  could  never 
obtain 

The  affection  that  freely  was  given  to 
Jane. 

Ann  Taylor. 


THE  DESSEBT. 

With  the  apples  ^Bnd  the  plums. 

Little  Carolina  comes  ; 

At  the  time  of  the  dessert  she 

Comes  and  drops  her  last  new  curtsey  ; 

Graceful  curtsey,  practised  o'er 

In  the  nursery  before. 

WTiat  shall  we  compare  her  to  ? 

The  dessert  itself  will  do. 

Like  4jrc3erves,  she's  kept  with  care. 

Like  bIanCl»«4^almonds,  she  is  fair. 

Soft  as  down  on  peach  her  hair. 

And  so  soft,  so  smooth  is  each 

Pretty  cheek  as  that  same  peach. 

Yet  more  like  in  hue  to  cherries  ; 

Then  her  lips,  the  sweet  strawberries, 

Caroline  herself  shall  try  them 

If  they  are  not  like  when  nigh  them  ; 

Her  bright  eyes  are  black  as  sloes, 

But  I  think  we've  none  of  those 

Common  fruit  here  ;    and  her  chin 

From  a  round  point  does  begin. 

Like  the  small  end  of  a  pear ; 

Whiter  drapery  she  does  wear 


Than  the  frost  on  cake ;   and  sweeter 
Than  the  cake  itself,  and  neater. 
Though  bedecked  with  emblems  fine. 
Is  our  little  Caroline. 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamb. 


THE   LITTLE    BIRD'S    COM- 
PLAINT    TO     HIS     MISTRESS 

Here  in  this  wiry  prison  where  I  sing, 

And  think  of  sweet  green  woods,  and 

long  to  fly. 

Unable  once  to  stretch  my  feeble  wing. 

Or  wave  my  feathers  in  the  clear 

blue  sky : 

Day  after  day  the  self-same  things  I 
see — 
The    cold    white    ceiling,    and    this 
wiry  house  ; 
Ah  I    how   unlike   my   healthy   native 
tree, 
Rock'd  by  the  winds  that  whistled 
thro'  the  boughs. 

Mild  spring  returning  strews  the  ground 
with  flowers. 
And  hangs  sweet  May-buds  on  the 
hedges  gay ; 
But  no  kind  sunshine  cheers  my  gloomy 
hours. 
Nor  kind  companion  twitters  on  the 
spray  1 

Oh  !  how  I  long  to  stretch  my  weary 
wings. 
And  fly  away  as  far  as  eye  can  see  ; 
And  from    the   topmost  bough,  when 
Robin  sings. 
Pour  my  wild  songs,  and  be  aa  blithe 
as  he. 

Why  was  I  taken  from  the  waving  nest,* 
From  flowery  fields,  wide  woods  and 
hedges  green  ; 
Torn  from  my  tender  mother's  do.\ny 
breast, 
In  this  sad  prison-house  to  die  un- 
seen ? 

Why  must  I  hear,  in  summer  evenings 
fine, 
A  thousand  happier  birds  in  many 
choirs  ? 
And  I,  poor  lonely  I,  forbid  to  join. 

by   these   wooden   walls   and 
wires  ! 


70 


Poems  for  Children. 


Kind  mistress,  come,  with  gentle,  pity- 
ing hand, 
Unbar  my  prison-door,  and  set  me 
free  ; 
Then  on  the  whitethorn  bush  I'll  take 
my  stand. 
And  sing  sweet  songs  to  freedom  and 
to  thee. 

Aiin  Taylor. 

THE   GLEANER. 

Before  the  bright  sun  rises  over  the 
hill. 
In  the  corn-field  poor  Mary  is  seen. 
Impatient  her  little  blue  apron  to  fill. 
With  the  few  scatter'd  ears  she  can 
glean. 

She  never  leaves  off  to  run  out  of  her 
place. 
To  play  or  to  idle  or  chat ; 
Except  now  and  then,  just  to  wipe  her 
hot  face. 
And  fan  herself  with  her  broad  hat. 

"  Poor  girl,  hard  at  work  in  the  heat 
of  the  sun, 
How  tir'd  and  warm  you  must  be  ; 
Why  don't  you  leave  off,  as  the  others 
have  done. 
And  sit  with  them  ulider  the  tree  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  for  my  mother  lies  ill  in  her 
bed. 
Too  feeble  to  spin  or  to  knit ; 
And  my  poor  little  brothers  are  crying 
for  bread, 
And  yet  we  can't  give  them  a  bit. 

"  Then  could  I  be  merry,  and  idle  and 
play. 
While  they  are  so  hungry  and  ill  ? 
Oh,  no !  I  would  rather  work  hard  all  the 
day. 
My  fittle  blue  apron  to  fill." 

Jane  Taylor. 

WEEDING. 

As  busy  Aurelia,  'twixt  work  and  'twixt 
play. 
Was  labouring  industriously  hard 
To  cull  the  vile  weeds  from  the  flowerets 
away. 
Which  grew  in  her   father's   coui't- 
yai  d  ; 


In   her  juvenile    anger,  wherever  she 
found, 
She  plucked,  and  she  pulled,  and  she 
tore  ; 
The  poor  passive  sufferers  bestrewed  all 
the  ground  ; 
Not  a  Aveed  of  them  all  she  forbore. 

At  length  'twas  her  chance  on  some 
nettles  to  light 
(Things,  tiU  then,  she  had  scarcely 
heard  named) ; 
The   vulgar  intruders   called   forth   all 
her  spite  ; 
In  a  transport  of  rage  she  exclaimed  : 

"  Shall  briars  so  unsightly  and  worth- 
less as  those 
Their   great   sprawling   leaves    thus 
presume 
To  mix  with  the  pink,  the  jonquil,  and 
the  rose. 
And  take  up  a  flower's  sweet  room  ?  " 

On  the  odious   offenders  enraged  she 
flew. 
But  she  presently  found  to  her  cost 
A  tingling  unlooked   for,  a  pain  that 
was  new. 
And  rage  was  in  agony  lost. 

To  her  father  she  hastily  fled  for  relief, 
And    told    him    her    pain     and    her 
smart ; 
With  kindly  caresses  he  soothed  her 
grief. 
Then   smiling,   he   took   the   weed's 
part. 

"  The  world,  my  Aurelia,  this  garden 
of  ours 
Resembles ;    too  apt  we're  to  deem 
In  the  world's  large  garden  ourselves  as 
the  flowers, 
And    the    poor    but    as    weeds    to 
esteem. 

"  But  them  if  we  rate,  or  with  rude- 
ness repel. 
Though  some  will  be  passive  enough. 
From  others  wlio're  more  independent 
'tis  well 
If  we  meet  not  a  stinging  rebuff." 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamb. 


Rhymes  for  Little   Ones. 


71 


THE  OFFEB. 

"  Tell  nie,  would  you  rather  be 
Changed  by  a  fairy  to  the  fine 
Young  orplian  heiress  Cieraldiue, 

Or  still  be  Emily  ? 

"  Consider,  ere  you  answer  me. 
How  many  blessings  ^re  procured 
By  riches,  and  how  much  endured 

By  chilling  poverty." 

After  a  pause,  said  Emily : 
'■  In  the  words  orphan  heiress  I 
l<'iud  many  a  solid  reason  why 

1  would  not  changed  be. 

"  What  though  I  live  in  poverty, 
And  have  of  sisters  eight — so  many 
'I'luxt  few  indulgences,   if  any, 

Fail  to  the  share  of  me  ; 

"  Think  you  that  for  wealth  I'd  be 
Of  even  the  least  of  them  bereft. 
Or  lose  my  parent,  and  be  left 

An  orphaned  Emily  ? 

"  Still  should  I  be  Emily, 
Although  I  looked  like  Geraldine ; 
I  feel  within  this  heart  of  mine 

No  change  could  worked  be." 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamb. 


THE    GOOD-NATURED    GIRLS. 

Two   good  little  ladies,   named   Mary 

and   Ann, 
Both  happily  live,  as  good  girls  always 

can  ; 
And  tho'  they  are  not  either  sullen  or 

mute, 
They   seldom   or  never   are   heard   to 

dispute. 

If  one  wants  a  thing  that  the  other  can 

get. 
They  don't  go  to  fighting  and  crying 

for  it ; 
But  each  one  is  willing  to  give  up  her 

right. 
For  they'd  rather  have  nothing  thaa 

quarrel  and  fight. 


If  one  of  them  happens  to  have  somi  - 

thing  nice. 
Directly  she  offers  her  sister  ■  slice  ; 
And  not  like  to  some  greedy  children 

I've  known. 
Who  would  go  in  a  corner  to  eat  it 

alone. 

When  papa  or  mamma  has  a  job  to 

be  done. 
These  good  little  girls  will  immediately 

run  ; 
And  not  stand  disputing  which  of  them 

should  go  ; 
They   would    be   ashamed    to    behave 

themselves  so. 

Whatever  occurs,  in  their  work  or  their 
^  play. 
They  are  willing  to  yield  and  give  up 

their  own  way ; 
Then  let  us  all  try  their  example  to 

mind. 
And  always,  like  them,  be  obliging  and 
kind. 

Jarie  Taylor. 


THE   BOY  AND    SNAKE. 

Henry  was  every  morning  fed 
With  a  full  mess  of  milk  and  broad. 
One  day  the  boy  his  breakfast  took. 
And  ate  it  by  a  purling  brook 
Which   through   his   mother's   orchard 

ran. 
From  that  time  ever  when  he  can 
Escape  his  mother's  eye,  he  there 
Takes  his  food  in  th'  open  air. 
Finding  the  chUd  delight  to  eat 
Abroad,  and  make  the  grass  his  seat. 
His  mother  lets  him  have  his  way. 
With  free  leave  Henry  every  day 
Thither  repairs,  until  she  heard 
Him  talking  of  a  fine  grey  bird. 
This  pretty  bird,  he  said,  indeed. 
Came  every  day  with  him  to  feed. 
And  it  loved  him,  and  loved  his  milk. 
And  it  was  smooth  and  soft  like  silk. 
His  mother  thought  she'  i  go  and  see 
What  sort  of  bird  this  same  might  be. 
So  the  next  mom  she  follows  Harry, 
And  carefully  she  sees  him  carry 
Through  the  long  grass  his  heaped-up 

mess. 
What  was  her  terror  ar.d  distiess. 


72 


Poems  for  Children. 


When  she  saw  the  infant  take 

His  bread  and  milk  close  to  a  snake  ! 

Upon  the  grass  he  spreads  his  fe  st, 

And  sits  down  by  his  frightful  guest, 

Who  had  waited  for  the  treat ; 

And  now  they  both  begin  to  eat. 

Fond  mother  !  shriek  not,  O  beware 

The  least  small  noise  ;   O  h  ve  a  care — 

The  least  small  noise  that  may  be  made. 

The  wily  snake  will  be  afraid — 

If  he  hear  the  lightest  sound. 

He  wiU  inflict  th'  envenomed  wound. 

She  speaks  not,  moves  not,  scarce  does 

breathe, 
As  she  stands  the  trees  beneath  ; 
No  sound  she  utters  ;    and  she  soon 
Sees  the  child  lift  up  its  spoon. 
And  tap  the  snake  upon  the  hea ', 
Fearless  of  harm ;    and  then  he  said. 
As  speaking  to  familiar  mate, 
"  Keep   on  your  own  side,   do.   Grey 

Pate." 
The  snake  then  to  the  other  side, 
As  one  rebuked,  seems  to  glide  ; 
And  now  again  advancing  nigh. 
Again  she  hears  the  infant  cry. 
Tapping   the   snake :    "  Keep   further, 

do  ; 
Mind,  Grey  Pate,  what  I  say  to  you." 
The  danger's  o'er — she  sees  the  boy 
(O  what  a  change  from  fear  to  joy  !) 
Pise  and  bid  the  snake  "  Good-bye  ;  " 
Says  he  :  "  Our  breakfast's  done,  and  I 
Will  come  again  to-morrow  day ;  " 
Then,  hghtly  tripping,  ran  away. 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamb. 


CHOOSING  A  PBOFESSION". 

A   Creole  boy  from  the  West  Indies 

brought, 
To  be  in  European  learning  taught, 
Some  years  before  to  Westminster  he 

went. 
To  a  preparatory  school  was  sent. 
When  from  his  artless  tale  the  mistress 

found 
The  child  had  not  one  friend  on  English 

!  round. 
She,  even  as  if  he  his  own  mother  were. 
Made  the  dark  Indian  her  peculiar  care. 
Oft  on  her  favourite's  future  lot  she 

thought ; 
To  know  the  bent  of  his  young  mind 

she  soui^ht. 


For  much  the  kind  preceptress  wished 

to  find 
To  what  profession  he  was  most  in- 

chned. 
That  where  his  genius  led  they  might 

him  train  ; 
For  nature's  kindly  bent  she  held  not 

vain. 
But  vain  her  efforts  to  <  xplor.^  his  will. 
Till  on  a  day  at  le'ngth  he  to  her  came, 
Joy  sparkling  in  his  eyes  ;  And  said, 

the  same 
Trade    he    would    be    those    boys    of 

colour  were, 
Who  danced  so  happy  in  the  open  air. 
It  was   a  troop  of   chimney-sweeping 

boys. 
With  wooden  music  and  obstreperous 

noise. 
In  tarnished  finery  and  grotesque  array. 
Were  dancing  in  the  street  the  first  of 

May. 

Charles  and  Marj  Lamb. 


FREDDIE  AND  THE  CHERRY 

TREE. 

Fkeddie  saw  some  fine  ripe  cherries 

Hanging  on  a  cherry  tree. 
And  he  said,  "  You  pretty  cherries. 

Will  you  not  come  down  to  me  ?  " 


"  Thank  you  kindly,"  said  a  cherry, 
"  We  would  rather  stay  up  here  ; 

If  we  ventured  down  this  morning, 
You  would  eat  us  up,  I  fear." 

One,  the  finest  of  the  cherries, 
Dangled  from  a  slender  twig. 

"  You  are  beautiful,"  said  Freddie, 
"  Red  and  ripe,  and  oh,  how  big  !  " 

"  Catch  me,"  said  the  cherry,  "  catch 
me, 

Littl    master,  if  you  can." 
"  I  would  catch  you  soon,"  said  Freddie, 

"  If  I  were  a  grown-up  man." 

Freddie  jumped,  and  tried  to  reach  it. 
Standing  high  upon  his  toes  ; 

But  the  cherry  bobbed  about. 
And  laughed,  and  tickled  Freddie's 


Rhymes  for  Little  Ones. 


I 


"  Npvor  mind,"  paid  Utile  Freddie, 
"  I  shall  have  them  when  it's  right. 

But  a  blackbird  whistled  boldly, 
"  I  Bhall  eat  them  all  to-night." 

Mrs.  Hawkshawe. 


WBITTEN"  IN"  THE  FIRST 
LEAF    OF    A    CHILD'S 
MEMOS  ANDUM-BOOK. 

My  neat  and  pretty  book,  when  1  thy 

small  lines  see. 
They  seem  for  any  use  to  be  unfit  for 

me. 
My  writing,  all  misshaped,  uneven  to 

my  mind, 
Within  this  narrow  space  can  hardly 

be  confined. 
Yet  I  will  strive  to  make  my  hand 

less  awkward   look ; 
1  would  not  willingly  disgrace  thee,  my 

neat  book. 
The  finest  pens  I'll  use,  and  wondrous 

pains  I'll  take. 
And  I  these  perfect  lines  my  monitors 

will  make. 
And  every  day  I  will  set  down  in  order 

due. 
How  that  day  wasted  is  ;    and  should 

there  be  a  few 
At   the   year's   end   that   show   more 

goodly  to  the  sight, 
If  haply  here  I  find  some  days  not 

wasted  quite. 
If   a   small   portion   of   them   I   have 

passed   aright. 
Then  shall  I  think  the  year  not  whollj- 

was   misspent, 
And  that  ray  Diary  has  been  by  some 

good  angel  sent. 


Cliarles  and  Mary  Lamb. 


WHICH  IS  THE    FAVOTJEITE? 

Brotheks  and  sisters  I  have  many ; 
Though  I  know  there  is  not  any 
Of  them  but  I  love,  yet  I 
Will  just  name  them  all ;    and  try 
If  there  be  one  a  little  more 
Loved  by  me  than  all  the  rest. 
Yes  ;   I  do  think,  that  I  love  best 
Mj'  brother  Henry,  because  he 
Ua-i  always  been  most  fond  of  me. 


Yet,  to  be  sure,  there's  Isabel ; 

I  think  I  love  her  quite  as  well. 

And,  I  assure  you,  Uttle  Ann, 

No  brother  nor  no  sister  can 

Be  more  dear  to  me  than  she. 

Only  I  must  say,  Emily, 

Being  the  eldest,  it's  right  her 

To  aU  the  rest  I  should  prefe  . 

Yet  after  all  I've  said,  suppose 

My  greatest  favourite  should  be  Rose  ? 

No  ;  John  and  Paul  are  both  more  dear 

To  me  than  Rose,  that's  always  here, 

While  they  are  half  the  year  at  school  ; 

And  yet  that  neither  is  no  rule. 

I  see  them  all — there's  only  seven ; 

I  find  my  love  to  all  so  even. 

To  every  sister,  every  brother, 

I  love  not  one  more  than  another. 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamb. 


"  WHY  NOT  DO  IT,  SIR,  TO- 
DAY ?  " 

"  Why  so  I  will,  you  noisy  bird, 
This  very  day  I'U  advertise  you, 
Perhaps  some  busy  one  may  buy  you. 
A    fine-tongued    parrot    as    was    ever 

heard, 
I'll  word  it  thus — set  forth  all  charms 

about  you, 
And  say  no  family  should  be  without 

you." 

Thus  far  a  gentleman  addressed  a  bird. 
Then  to  his  friend :  "  An  old  procraa- 

tinator. 
Sir,  I  am  ;   do  you  wonder  that  I  hate 

her  ? 
Though  she  but  seven  words  can  say. 
Twenty  and  twenty  times  a  day. 
She  interferes  with  all  my  dreams. 
My  projects,  plans,  and  airy  schemes. 
Mocking  my  foible  to  my  sorrow : 
I'll  advertise  this  bird  to-morrow." 

To  this  the  bird  seven  words  did  say  : 
"  Why  not  do  it,  sir,  to-day  ?  " 

Charles  atid  Mary  Lamb. 

THE    TWO    BEES. 

But  a  few  words  could  William  say. 
And  those  few  could  not  speak  plain  ; 

Yet  thought  he  was  a  man  one  day  ; 
Never  saw  I  boy  so  vain. 


74 


Poems  for  Children. 


From  what  could  vanity  proiececl 
In  such  a  little  lispmg  lad  'i 

Or  was  it  vanity  indeed  ? 
Or  was  he  onlj'^  very 


For  he  without  his  maid  may  go 
To  the  heath  with  elder  boys. 

And  pluck  ripe  berries  where  they  grow  ; 
Well  may  William  then  rejoice. 

Be  careful  of  your  little  charge  ; 

Elder  boys,  let  him  not  rove  ; 
The  heath  is  wide,  the  heath  is  large, 

From  your  sight  he  must  not  move. 

But  rove  he  did,  they  had  not  been 

One  short  hour  the  heath  upon, 
When  he  was  nowhere  to  be  seen  ; 
"  Where,"     said    they,     "  is    William 
gone  ?  " 

Mind  not  the  elder  boys'   distress ; 

Let  them  run,  and  let  them  fly. 
Their  own  neglect  and  giddiness 

They  are  justly  suffering  by. 

William  his  little  basket  filled 
With  his  berries  ripe  and  red  ; 

Then,  naughty  boy,  two  bees  he  killed, 
Under  foot  he  stamped  them  dead. 

William   had   coursed   them   o'e;    the 
heath, 

After  them  his  steps  did  wander  ; 
When  he  was  nearly  out  of  breath. 

The  last  bee  his  foot  was  under. 

A  cruel  triumph  which  did  not 
Last  but  a  moment's  space, 

For  now  he  finds  that  he  has  got 
Out  of  sight  of  every  face 

What  are  the  berries  now  to  him  ? 

What  the  bees  which  he  has  slain  ? 
Fear  now  possesses  every  limb. 

He  cannot  trace  his  steps  again. 

The  poor  bees  William  had  affrighted 
In  more  teri'or  did  not  haste 

Than  he  fi'om  bush  to  bush,  benighted 
And  alone  amid  the  waste. 

Late  in  the  night  the  child  was  found. 

He  who  these  two  bees  had  cruslied 
Was  lying  on  the  cold  damp  ground. 

Sleep  had  then  his  sorrows  hushed. 


A  fever  followed  from  the  fright. 
And  from  sleeping  iu  the  dew  ; 

He  many  a  day,  and  many  a  night 
Suffered,  ere  he  better  grew. 

His  aching  limbs  while  sick  he  lay 
Made   him  learn   the   crushed   bees' 
pain  ; 

Oft  would  he  to  his  mother  say, 
"  I  ne'er  will  kill  a  bee  again." 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamb. 


THE  PEACH. 

Mamma  gave  us  a  single  peach. 
She  shared  it  among  seven ; 

Now  you  may  think  that  unto  each 
But  a  small  piece  was  given. 

Yet  though  each  share  was  very  small, 
We  owned  when  it  was  eaten, 

Being  so  little  for  us  all 

Did  its  fine  flavour  heighten. 

The  tear  was  in  our  parents'  eye. 
It  seemed  quite  out  of  season  ; 

When  we  asked  wherefore  did  she  crj^ 
She  thus  explained  the  reason  : 

"  The  cause,  my  children,  I  may  say. 
Was  joy  and  not  dejection  ; 

The  peach  which  made  you  aU  so  gay. 
Gave  rise  to  this  reflection : 

"  It's  many  a  mother's  lot  to  share. 
Seven  hungry  children  viewing, 

A  morsel  of  the  coarsest  fare. 
As  I  this  peach  was  doing." 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamb. 


THE    ORANQE. 

The  month  was  June,  the  day  was  hot, 
And  Philip  had  an  orange  got ; 
The     fruit    was     fragrant,     tempting, 

bright, 
Refreshing  to  the  smell  and  sight ; 
Not  of  that  puny  size  \\'hich  calls 
Poor  customers  to  common  stalls. 
But  large  and  massy,  full  of  juice, 
As  any  Lima  can  protiuce. 
The  liquor  would,  if  squeezed  out. 
Have  filled  a  tumbler — thereabout. 


Rhymes  for  Little   Ones. 


'I'lic  happy  boy  with  greedy  eye;. 
Surveys  and  re-surveys  his  prize. 
He  turns  it  round,  and  longs  to  drain. 
And  with  the  juice  his  lips  to  stain. 
His  throat  and  lips  were  parched  witii 

heat; 
The  orange  seemed  to  cry,  "  Gome,  eat." 
He  from  his  pocket  draws  a  knife. 
When    in    his    thoughts    there    rose    a 

strife. 
Which  folks  experience  wlieii  they  wish, 
Yet  scruple,  to  begin  a  dish. 
And  by  their  hesitation  own 
It  is  too  good  to  eat  alone. 
But  appetite  o'er  indecision 
Prevails,  and  Philip  makes  incision. 

The  melting  fruit  in  quarters  came, — 
Just  then  there  passed  by  a  dame. 
One  of  the  poorer  sort  she  seemed, 
As  by  her  garb  you  would  have  deemed. 
Who  in  her  toil-woi'n  arms  did  hold 
A  sickly  infant  ten  months  old  ; 
That  from  a  fever  caugiit  in  spring, 
Was  slowly  then  recovering. 
The  child,  attract<?d  by  the  view 
Of  that  fair  orange,  feebly  threw 
A  languid  look — perhaps  the  smell 
Convinced    it    that    there    sure    must 

dweU 
A  corresponding  sweetness  there, 
Where  lodged  a  scent  so  good  and  rare — 
Perhaps  the  smell  the  fruit  did  give 
Felt  heaUng  and  restorative — 
For  never  had  the  child  been  graced 
To  know  such  dainties  by  their  taste. 

\^Tien  Philip,  saw  the  infant  crave. 
He  straightway  to  the  mother  gave 
His  quartered  orange  ;    nor  would  stay 
To  hear  her  thanks,  but  tripped  away. 
Then  to  the  next  clear  spring  he  ran 
To  quench  his  drought,  a  happy  man. 

Charles  atid  Mary  Lamb. 


THE    TTSB    or    SI&HT. 

"  What,  Charles  returned  !  "  Papa  ex- 
claimed, 

"  How  short  your  walk  has  been  ! 
But  Thomas — JuUa — where  are  they  ? 

Come,  tell  me  what  you've  seen." 


"  So  tfdioii3,  stupid,  dull  a  walk  !  " 
Said  Charles  ;    "  I'll  go  no  more  ; 

Fii-st  stopping  here,  then  lagging  thcrf, 
O'er  this  and  that  to  pore. 

*'  I  crossed  the  fields  near  Woodland 
House, 

And  just  went  up  the  hill ; 
Then  by  the  river-side  came  down, 

Near  Mr.  Fairplay's  mill." 

Xow  Tom  and  Julia  both  ran  in  ; 
"  Oh,  dear  papa  !  "  said  they, 
•'  The  sweetest  walk  we  both  have  had  ! 
Oh,  what  a  pleasant  day  ! 

"  Nt'ai-    Woodland   House    we  crossed 
tlie  fields, 
And  by  the  mill  we  came." 
"  Indeed  !  "    exclaimed  Papa,    "  how's 
this  ? 
Your  brother  did  the  same  ; 

"  But  very  dull  he  found  the  walk. 

What  have  you  there  ?  let's  see  : 
Come,    Charles,    enjoy    this    charming 
treat, 

As  new  to  you  as  me." 

"  First  look,  papa,  at  tliis  small  branch, 

Which  on  a  tall  oak  grew. 
And  by  its  slimy  berries  white 

The  mistletoe  we  knew. 

"  A  bird  all  green  ran  up  a  tree, 

A  woodpecker  we  call. 
Who,  with  his  strong  bill,  wounds  the 
bark, 

To  feed  on  insects  small. 

"  And  many  lapwings  cried  pee-wit ; 

And  one  among  the  rest 
Pretended  lameness  to  decoy 

Us  from  her  lonely  nest. 

"  Young  starlings,   martins,   swallows, 
all 

Such  lovely  flocks  so  gay  ; 
A  iieron,  too,  which  caught  a  fish, 

And  with  it  flew  away. 

"  This  bird  we  found,  a  kingfisher. 
Though  dead,  his  plumes  how  bright ! 

Do  have  him  stuS'd,  my  dear  papa, 
'Twill  be  a  charming  sight. 


76 


Poems  for  Children. 


"  When  reached  the  heath,  how  wide 
the  space  ! 
The  air,  how  fresh  and  sweet ! 
We  plucked  these  flowers  and  different 
heaths. 
The  fairest  we  could  meet. 

"  The  distant  prospect  we  admired, 
The  moxmtains  far  and  blue  ; 

A  mansion  here,  a  cottage  there  ; 
See,  here's  the  sketch  we  drew. 

"  A  splendid  sight  we  next  beheld. 

The  glorious  setting  sun, 
In  clouds  of  crimson,  purple,  gold  ; 

His  daily  race  was  done." 

"  True    taste   with   knowledge,"    said 
Papa, 

By  obserTation's  gained  ; 
You've  both  well  used  the  gift  of  sight. 

And  thus  reward  obtained. 

"  My  Julia  in  this  desk  will  find 
A  drawing-box  quite  new ; 

This  spy-glass,  Tom,  you  oft  desired, 
I  think  it  now  your  due. 

"  And  pretty  toys  and  pretty  gifts 
For  Charles,  too,  shall  be  bought. 

When  he  can  see  the  works  of  God, 
And  prize  them  as  he  ought 

Adelaide  O'Keeffe. 


THE  BROKEN  DOLL. 

An  infant  is  a  selfish  sprite  ; 

But  what  of  that  ?  the  sweet  delight 

Which  from  participation  springs 

Is    quite    unknown    to    these    young 

things. 
We  elder  children  then  will  smile. 
At  our  dear  little  John  awhile. 
And  bear  with  him,  until  he  see 
There  is  a  sweet  felicity 
In  pleasing  more  than  only  one. 
Dear  little  craving  selfish  John. 

He  laughs,  and  thinks  it  a  fine  joke, 
That  he  our  new  wax  doll  has  broke. 
A  nger  will  never  teach  him  better ; 
We  will  the  spirit  and  the  letter 
Of  courtesy  to  him  display. 
By  taking  in  a  friendly  way 
These  baby  froUcs  ;    till  he  learn 
True  spoit  from  mischief  to  discern. 


Reproof  a  parent's  province  is ; 
A  sister's  discipline  is  this : 
By  studied  kindness  to  effect 
A  little  brother's  young  respect. 
What  is  a  doU  ?  a  fragile  toy. 
What  is  its  loss  ?  if  the  dear  boy, 
Who  half  perceives  he's  done  amiss, 
Retain  impression  of  the  kiss 
That  followed  instant  on  his  cheek ; 
If  the  kind  loving  words  we  speak 
Of  "  never  mind  it,"  "  We  forgive," — 
If  these  in  his  short  memory  live 
Only,  perchance,  for  half  a  day — 
Who  minds  a  doU — if  that  should  lay 
The  first  impression  in  his  mind 
That  sisters  are  to  brothers  kind  ? 
For  thus  the  broken  doU  may  prove 
Foundation  to  fi-aternal  love. 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamb. 


THE  WOODEITDOLL  AND  THE 
"WAX   DOLL. 

There  were  two  friends,  a  charming 
pair  ! 

Brunette  the  brown,  and  Blanchidine 
the  fair ; 

This  child  to  love  Brunette  did  still 
inchne. 

And  much  Brunette  loved  sweet  Blan- 
chidine. 

Brunette  in  dress  was  neat,  yet  won- 
drous plain. 

But  Blanchidine  of  finery  was  vain. 

Now  Blanchidine  a  new  acquaintance 
made, 

A  little  IMiss,  most  splendidly  array'd  : 

Feathers  and  laces  beauteous  to  behold, 

And  Indian  frock,  with  spots  of  shining 
gold. 

Said  Blanchidine,  "a  Miss  so  richly 
dress' d. 

Surely  deserves  by  all  to  be  caress'd  ; 

To  play  with  me  if  she  will  condescend. 

Henceforward  she  shall  be  my  only 
friend." 

For  this  new  Miss,  so  dress'd  and  so 
adorn'd. 

Her  poor  Brunette  was  sUghted,  left 
and  scorn' d. 

Of  Blanchidine's  vast  stock  of  pretty 

toys, 
A    wooden    DoU    her    ev'ry    thought 

employs : 


Rhymes  for  Little   Ones. 


Its  neck  so  white,  so  smooth,  its  cheeks 

so  red. 
She'd  kiss,  she'd  hug,  she'd  take  it  to 

her    ed. 


Mamma  now  brought  her  home  a  doll 

of  wax, 
Its  hair  in  ringlets  white,  and  soft  as 

flax  ; 
Its  eyes  could  open,  and  its  eyes  could 

shut, 
And  on  it  with  much  taste  its  clothes 

■\^ere  put. 
"  My  dear  wax  doll,"  sweet  Blanchidine 

would  cry. 
Her  doll  of  wood  was  thrown  neglected 

by. 

One  summer's  day,  'twas  in  the  month 

of  June, 
Tlie  sun  blazed  out  in  all  the  heat  of 

noon  ; 
"  My  waxen   doll !  "   she   cried,    "  my 

dear,  my  charm  ! 
You  feel  quite  cold,  but  you  shall  soon 

be  warm." 
She  placed  it  in  the  sun — misfortune 

dire  ! 
The  wax  ran  down  as  if    before  the 

fire  ! 
Each   beauteous   feature   quicldy   dis- 
appeared. 
And  melting  left  a  blank  all  soil'd  and 

smear'd. 


She  stared,  she  scream'd  with  horror 

and  dismay  ; 
"  You  odious  fright  I  "  she  then  was 

heard  to  say  ; 
"  For    you    my    silly    heart    I    have 

estranged 
From  my  sweet  wooden  doU  that  never 

changed  ! 
Just  so  may  change  my  new  acquaint- 
ance fine. 
For  whom  I  left  Brunette,  that  friend 

of  mine. 
'o  more  by  outside  show  will  I  be 

lured, 
Of  such  capricious  whims  I  think  I'm 

cured  ; 
To  plain  old  friends  my  heart  shall  still 

be  true. 
Nor  change  for  every  face  because  'tis 

new." 


Her  slighted  wooden  doll  resumed  its 

charms. 
And    wrong'd    Brunette    she    clasp'd 

within  her  arms. 

Adelaide  O'Keeffe. 


A  NEW  YEAR'S  GIFT. 

A  CHARMING  present  comes  from  town, 

A  baby-house  quite  neat : 
With  kitchen,  parlours,  dining  room. 

And  chambers  all  complete. 

A  gift  to  Emma  and  to  Rose, 
From  grandpapa  it  came  ; 

The  little  Rosa  smiled  delight. 
And  Emma  did  the  same. 

They  eagerly  examined  all : 

The  furniture  was  gay ; 
And  in  the  rooms  they  placed  their 
dolls. 

When  dressed  in  fine  array. 

At  night,  their  little  candles  lit, 

And  as  they  must  be  fed, 
To  supper  down  the  dolls  were  placed. 

And  then  were  put  to  bed. 

Thus  Rose  and  Emma  passed  each  hour, 

Devoted  to  their  play  ; 
And  long  were  cheerful,  happy,  kind — 

No  cross  disputes  had  they. 

Till  Rose  in  baby-house  would  change 
The  chairs  that  were  below  ; 

"  This  carpet  they  would  better  suit ; 
I  think  rU  have  it  so." 

"  No,  no,  indeed,"  her  sister  said, 
"  I'm  older,  Rose,  than  you  ; 

And  I'm  the  pet — the  house  is  mine  ; 
Miss,  what  I  say  is  true." 

The  quarrel  grew  to  such  a  height. 
Mamma  she  heard  the  noise. 

And  coming  in,  beheld  the  floor 
All  strewed  with  broken  toys. 

"  Oh,  fie,  my  Emma  !  naughty  Rose  ! 

Say,  why  thus  sulk  and  pout  ? 
Remember,  this  is  New  Year's  Day, 

And  both  are  going  out." 


78 


Poems  for  Children. 


Now  Betty  calls  tlie  little  girlg 
To  come  upstairs  and  dress  ; 

They    still    revile,    Tvith    threats 
taunts, 
And  angry  rage  express. 


and 


But  just  prepared  to  leave  their  room, 

Persisting  yet  in  strife, 
Rose  sickening  fell  on  Betty's  lap. 

As  void  of  sense  or  life. 

Mamma  appeared  at  Betty's  call, 

John  for  the  doctor  goes  ; 
The  measles,  he  begins  to  think. 

Dread  symptoms  all  disclose. 

*'  But  though  I  stay,  my  Emma,  you 
May  go  and  spend  the  day." 

"  Oh,  no,  mamma,"  replied  the  child, 
"  Do  suffer  me  to  stay. 

"  Beside  my  sister's  bed  I'll  sit. 
And  watch  her  with  such  care ; 

No  pleasure  can  I  e'er  enjoy. 
Till  she  my  pleasure  share 

"  How  silly  now  seems  our  dispute. 

Not  one  of  us  she  knows  ; 
How   pale   she   looks,    how   hard   she 
breathes  : 

Poor,  pretty  little  Rose." 

Adelaide  O'Keeffe. 


THE  DOIili'S  HOUSE. 

Dear  Agatha,  I  give  you  joy. 
And  much  admire  your  pretty  toy  ; 
A  mansion  in  itself  comple  e. 
And  fitted  to  give  guests  a  treat ; 
With  couch  and  table,  chest  and  chair. 
The  bed  or  supper  to  prepare  ; 
We  almost  wish  to  change  ourselves 
To  fairy  forms  of  tripping  elves, 
To  press  the  velvet  couch  and  eat 
From  liny  cups  the  sugared  meat. 
I  much  suspect  that  many  a  sprite 
Inhabits  it  at  dead  of  night ; 
That,  as  they  dance,  the  listening  ear 
The  pat  of  fairy  feet  might  hear  ; 
That  just  as  you  have  said  your  prayers, 
They  hurry-scurry  down  the  stairs  ; 
And  you'll  do  well  to  try  to  find 
Some  little  thing  they've  left  behind. 

Mrs.  Barhauld. 


THE    GOOD   GIBIi. 

Miss  Lydia  Ba>.ks,  though  very  young, 
Will  never  do  what's  rude  or  wrong  ; 
When  spoken  to,  she  always  tries 
To  give  the  most  polite  replies. 

Observing  what  at  school  she's  taught, 
iShe  turns  her  toes  as  children  ought ; 
And  when  return'd  at  night  from  school 
8he  never  lolls  on  chair  or  stool. 

Some  children,   when  they    write,   we 

know. 
Their  ink  about  them  heedless  throw  ; 
But  she,  though  young,  has  leam'd  to 

think, 
That  clothes  look  spoil'd  with  spots  of 

ink. 

Perhaps  some  little  girl  may  ask. 
If  Lydia  always  learns  her  task  ; 
With  pleasure  I  can  answer  this. 
Because  with  truth  I  answer,  "  Yes  " 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  Turner. 


FRANCES    KEEPS    HEB 
PBOMISE. 
My  Fanny,  I  have  news  to  tell, 

Your  diligence  quite  pleases  me  ; 
You've  worked  so  neatly,  read  so  well. 
With  cousin  Jaue  you  may  drink  tea. 

But  pray,  my  dear,  remember  this, 
Al  hough  to  stay  you  should  incline. 

Though  warmly  pressed  by  each  kind 
miss, 
I  wish  you  to  return  by  nine. 

With  many  thanks  th'  attentive  child 
Assured  mamma  she  would  obey  ; 

When  washed  and  dressed  she  Idssed 
and  smiled. 
And  with  the  maid  she  went  away. 

When  reached  her  cousin's,  she  was 
shown 

To  where  her  little  friends  were  met  ; 
And  when  her  coming  was  made  known. 

Around  her  flocked  the  cheerful  set. 

They  dance,  they  play,  they  sweetly 
sing. 

In  every  sport  each  child  partakes. 
And  now  the  servants  sweetmeats  bring. 

With  wine  and  jellies,  fiuit  and  cakes. 


Rhymes  for  Little   Ones. 


70 


111  rornos  papa,  and  saj\s,  "  My  dears, 
The  inagic  lantern  if  you'd  see, 

And  that  which  on  the  wall  appears. 
Leave  off  your  play  and  follow  me." 

While  Frances,  too,  enjoyed  the  sight, 
Where  moving  figures  all  combine 

To  raise  her  wonder  and  delight, 
She   hears  the  parlour  clock  strike 
nine. 

The  boy  walks  in  ;  "  Miss,  Ann  is  come." 
"  Oh  dear,  how  soon  !  "  the  children 
cry  ; 

They  press,  but  Fanny  will  go  home. 
And  bids  her  little  friends  good-bye. 

"  My  dear  mamma,  am  I  not  good  ?  " 
"  You  are,  indeed,"  mamma  replies  ; 

"  But  when  you  said,  I  thought  you 
would 
Return,  and  thus  you've  won  a  prize. 

"  This  way,  my  love,  and  see  the  man 
Whom  I  desired  at  nine  to  call." 

Down  stairs  young  Frances  quickly  ran. 
And  found  him  waiting  in  the  hall. 

"  Here,  Miss,  are  pretty  birds  to  buy, 
A  parrot,  or  macaw  so  gay ; 

A  speckled  dove  with  scarlet  eye  ; 
But  quickly  choose,  I  cannot  stay. 

"  Would  you  a  Java  sparrow  love  ?  " 
"  No,  no,  I  thank  you,"  said  the  child  ; 

"  I'll  have  a  beauteous  cooing  dove. 
So  harmless,  innocent,  and  mild  " 

"  Your  choice,  my  Fanny,  I  commend  ; 

Few  birds  can  with  the  dove  com- 
pare ; 
But,  lest  it  pine  without  a  friend. 

You  may,  my  dear,  choose  out  a  pair." 

Adelaide  O^Keeffe. 


liTJCY-S  CANARY. 

BEFORE  AND  AFTER  BREAKFAST. 

"  Sing  sweet,   my   bird  ;   oh  !   sing,    I 
pray, 

My  pretty  yellow  bird  ! 
This  is  the  lovely  month  of  May, 

\A'hen  songs  of  birds  are  heard. 


"  You  droop  your  head — you  fold  your 
wing, 

Tho'  surely  you  are  well  ; 
Then,  dear  Canary,  why  not  sing  ? 

Your  sorrow  to  me  tell." 

Jliss  Lucy  question'd  still  her  pet ; 

Her  elder  sister  came. 
And  said,  "  Dear  Lucy,  do  not  fret. 

If  ill,  you're  not  to  blame  ; 

"  For  constantly  I've  seen  you  give 
Your  bird  his  drink  and  food 

Ajter  your  breakfast,  I  believe  ; — 
My  Lucy's  kind  and  good." 

Then  Lucy  gave  a  bitter  cry. 
And  quick  the  cage  took  down. 

No  seed  !  no  water  ! — all  w  as  dry  ; 
His  life  had  nearly  flown  ! 

Her  sister  took  the  drooping  bird. 
And  gently  water  gave  him. 

And    long    she    watch' d — and    greatly 
fear'd 
That  she  could  never  save  him! 

Poor  Lucy  wept  with  grief  and  shame, — 

But,  oh  !  what  joy  to  see 
The  bird  revive — and  look  the  same, 

And  perch  most  merrily  ! 

*'  Thanks,    dearest   sister ;     from    this 
day. 

Before  my  breakfast,  I'll  attend 
My  precious  bird  !  and  you  will  say. 

No  longer  I'm  his  careless  friend." 

Adelaide  O'KeefJe. 


TO   A  LITTLE    GIRL   GATHEB- 
ING  FLOWERS. 

Sweetest  !  if  thy  fairy  hand 
Culls  for  me  the  latest  flow'rs. 

Smiling,  hear  me  thus  demand 
Blessings  for  thy  early  hours 

Be  thy  promis'd  spring  as  bright 
As  its  opening  charms  foretell ; 

Graced  with  Beauty's  lovely  light, 
Modest  Virtue's  dearer  spell. 

Be  thy  Summer's  matron  bloom 

Bless'd  with  blossoms  sweet  like  thee  ; 

May  no  tempest's  sudden  doom 
Blast  thy  hope's  fair  nursery  1 


80 


Poems  for  Children. 


May  thine  Autumn,  calm,  serene. 
Never  xvant  some  ling'ring  flow'r, 

Which  affection's  hand  may  glean, 
Though    the    darkling    mists    may 
low'r  ! 

Sunshine  cheer  thy  wintry  day. 
Tranquil  conscience,  peace,  and  love  ; 

And  thy  wintry  nights  display 
Streams  of  glorious  light  above. 

Mrs.  Tighe. 


A  TBXTE  STORY. 

Little  Ann  and  her  mother  were  walk- 
ing one  day 
Through  London's  wide  city  so  fair, 
And   business  obliged  them  to  go  by 
the  way 
That  led   them   through   Cavendish 
Square. 

And  as  they  passed  by  the  great  house 
of  a  Lord, 
A  beautiful  chariot  there  came, 
To    take    some    most    elegant    ladies 
abroad, 
Who  straightway  got  into  the  same. 

The  ladies  in  feathers  and  jewels  were 

seen, 

The  chariot  was  painted  all  o'er  ; 

The  footmen  behind  were  in  silver  and 

green. 

The  horses  were  prancing  before. 

Little  Ann  by  her  mother  walk'd  silent 

and  sad, 

A  tear  triclded  down  from  her  eye  ; 

Till  her  mother  said,   "  Ann,  I  should 

be  very  glad 

To  know  what  it  is  makes  you  cry." 

"  Mamma,"  said  the  child,  "  see  that 

carriage  so  fair, 

All  cover'd  with  varnish  and  gold, 

Those  ladies  are  riding  so  charmingly 

there, 

While  we  have  to  walk  in  the  cold  : 

"  You  say  God  is  kind  to  the  folks  that 
are  good. 
But  surely  it  cannot  be  true  ; 
Or  else  I  am  certain,  almost,  that  He 
would 
Give  such  a  fine  carriage  to  you." 


"  Look    there,    little    girl,"    said    her 
mother,  "  and  see, 
"What  stands  at  that  very  coach  door  ; 
A  poor  ragged  beggar,  and  listen  how 
she 
A  halfpeimy  stands  to  implore. 

"  All  pale  is  her  face,  and  deep  sunk  is 
her  eye. 
Her  hands  look  like  skeleton's  bones  ; 
She  lias  got  a  few  rags  just  about  her 
to  tie ; 
And   her  naked   feet   bleed   on   the 
stones. 

*'  *  Dear  ladies,'  she  cries,  and  the  tears 
trickle  down, 
"  '  Relieve  a  poor  beggar,  I  pray  ; 
I've  wandered  all  hungry  about  this 
wide  town 
And  not  eaten  a  morsel  to-day. 

"  '  My  father  and  mother  are  long  ago 
dead, 

My  brother  sails  over  the  sea  ; 
And  I've  not  a  rag,  or  a  morsel  of  bread, 

As  plainly,  I'm  sure,  you  may  see. 

"  '  A  fever  I  caught,  which  was  terribly 
bad, 
But  no  nurse  or  physic  had  I ; 
An  old  dirty  shed  was  the  house  that 
I  had. 
And  only  on  straw  could  I  lie. 

"  '  And  now  that  I'm  better,  yet  feeble, 
and  faint. 
And  famish'd,  and  naked,  and  cold 
I  wander  about  with  my  grievous  com- 
plaint. 
And  seldom  get  aught  but  a  scold. 

"  '  Some  will  not  attend  to  my  pitiful 
call. 
Some  think  me  a  vagabond  cheat ; 
And  scarcely  a  creature  relieves  me  at 
aU, 
The    thousands    that    traverse    the 
street. 

"  '  Then  ladies,  dear  ladies,  your  pity 

bestow ; '  " 

Just  then  a  tall  footman  came  round. 

And  asking  the  ladies  which  way  they 

would  go, 

The  chariot  turn'd  off  with  a  bound. 


Rhymes  for  Little  Ones. 


81 


"  Ah  !  see,  little  girl,"  then  her  mother 
replied, 
"  How  foolish  it  was  to  complain  ; 
If  you  would  have  look'd  on  the  contrary 
side, 
Your    teara    would    have   dried    up 
again. 

"  Your  house,  and  your  friends,  and 

your  victuals  and  bed, 

'Twas  God  in  His  mercy  that  gave  ; 

You  did  not  deserve  to  be  cover'd  and 

fed. 

Yet  all  of  these  blessings  you  have. 

"  This  poor  little  beggar  is  hungry  and 
cold. 
No  father  or  mother  has  she  ; 
And  while  such  an  object  as  this  you 
behold. 
Contented  indeed  you  should  be. 

"  A  coach,  and  a  footman,  and  gaudy 
attire. 
Give  little  true  joy  to  the  breast ; 
To  be  good  is  the  thing  you  should 
chiefly   desire. 
And  then  leave  to  God  all  the  rest." 

Ann  Taylor, 


Sister. 

That  is  not  half  the  way  to  tell 

What  fancy  is  about ; 

Ho  pray  now  tell  me  more. 

Bbotheb. 

Sister,  I  think  'twere  quite  as  well 
That  you  should  find  it  out ; 
So  think  the  matter  o'er. 

SiSTEE. 

It's  what  comes  in  our  lieads  when  we 
Play  at  "  Lets-make-believe," 
And  when  we  play  at  "  Guessing." 

Brother. 

And  I  have  heard  it  said  to  be 
A  talent  often  makes  us  grieve. 
And  sometimes  proves  a  blessing. 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamb. 


BEADIWO, 

"And  so  you  do  not  like  to  spell, 
Mary,  my  dear  ;    oh,  very  well : 
'Tis  dull  and  troublesome,  you  say, 
And  you  would  rather  be  at  play. 


WHAT  IS   FANCY? 

Sister. 

I  AM  to  write  three  lines,  and  you 
Tliree  others  that  will  rhyme. 
There — now  I've  done  my  task. 

Brother. 

Three  stupid  lines  as  e'er  I  knew. 
When  you've  the  pen  next  time. 
Some  question  of  me  ask. 

Sister. 

Then  teU  me,  brother,  and  pray  mind. 
Brother,  you  teU  me  true  : 
What  sort  of  thing  is  fancy  ? 

Brother. 

By  all  that  I  can  ever  find, 
'Tis  something  that  is  very  new. 
And  what  no  dunces  can  see. 


"  Then  bring  me  all  your  books  again. 
Nay,  Mary,  why  do  you  complain  ? 
For  as  you  do  not  choose  to  read. 
You  shall  not  have  your  books,  indeed. 

"  So  as  you  wish  to  be  a  dunce. 
Pray  go  and  fetch  me  them  at  once  ; 
For  if  you  will  not  learn  to  spell, 
'Tis  vain  to  think  of  reading  well. 

"  Now,  don't  you  think  you'll  blush  to 

own, 
When  you  become  a  woman  grown, 
Without  one  good  excuse  to  plead. 
That  you  have  never  learn'd  to  read  ?  " 

"  0,  dear  mamma,"  said  Mary,  then, 
"  Do  let  me  have  my  books  again  ; 
I'll  not  fret  any  more,  indeed, 
If  you  will  let  me  learn  to  read." 

Jane  Taylor, 
6 


82 


Poems  for  Children. 


THE  NEW   BOOK. 

A  NEAT  little  book,  full  of  pictures,  was 

bought 
For  a  good  little  girl  that  was  glad  to 

be  taught. 
Si'.e  read  all  the  tales,  and  then  said 

to  her  mother, 
III  lend  this  new  book  to  my  dear  little 

brother. 

He  shall  look  at  the  pictures  and  find 

O  and  I, 
I'm  sure  he  won't  tear  it,  he's  such  a 

good   boy  ! 
Oh,  no  !   brother  Henry  knows  better 

indeed. 
Although  he's  too  young,  yet,  to  spell 

or  to  read. 

Airs.  Elizabeth  Turner. 


HOW  TO    WRITE   A   LETTEB. 
Maria  intended  a  letter  to  write. 
But  could  not  begin  (as  she  thought) 

to  indite  ; 
So  went  to  her  mother  with  pencil  and 

slate. 
Containing  "  Dear  Sister,"  and  also  a 

date. 

"  With  nothing  to  say,  my  dear  girl, 
do  not  think 

Of  wasting  your  time  over  paper  and 
ink ; 

But  certainly  this  is  an  excellent  way, 

To  try  with  your  slate  to  find  some- 
thing to  say. 

"  I  will  give  you  a  rule,"  said  her 
Mother  ;  "'  my  dear, 

Just  think  for  a  moment  your  sister 
is  here. 

And  what  would  you  tell  her  ?  con- 
sider, and  then. 

Though  silent  your  tongue,  you  can 
speak  with  your  Pen." 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  Turner. 


THE  CHILD  IN   THE  STORY 
GOES  TO  BED. 

I  PRYTHEE,   Nurse,  come  smooth   my 
hair  • 
And    prythee,    Nmse,    unloose    my 
shoe. 


And  trimly  turn  my  silken  sheet 
Upon  my  quilt  of  gentle  blue. 

My  pillow  sweet  of  lavender 
Smooth  with  an  amiable  hand. 

And  may  the  dark  pass  peacefull}'  by 
As  in  the  i  our-glass  droops  the  sand. 

Prepare  my  cornered  manchet  sweet, 
And  in  my  little  crystal  cup 

Pour  out  the  blithe  and  flowing  mead 
That  forthwith  I  may  sup. 

Withdraw  my  curtains  from  the  night. 
And  let  the  crisped  crescent  shine 

Upon  my  eyelids  while  I  sleep, 
And    soothe    me    with    her    beams 
benign. 

From  far-away  there  streams  the  singing 
Of  the  mellifluent  nightingale — 

Surely  if  goblins  hear  her  lay. 

They  shall  not  o'er  my  peace  prevail. 

Now  quench  my  silver  lamp,  prythee. 
And  bid  the  harpers  harp  that  tune, 

Fairies  which  haunt  the  meadow  lands 
Sing  clearly  to  the  stars  of  June. 

And  bid  them  play,  though  I  in  dreams 
No  longer  heed  their  pining  strains. 
For  I  would  not  to  silence  wake. 
When  slumber  o'er  my  senses  wanes. 

You  Angels  bright  who  me  defend, 
Enshadow  me  with  curved  wing. 

And  keep  me  in  the  darksome  night 
TiU  dawn  another  day  do  bring. 

Walter  Bamal. 


THE  LITTLE  BOY'S    GOOD- 
NIGHT. 

The  sun  is  hidden  f^om  our  sight, 

The  birds  are  sleeping  sound  ;  , 

'Tis  time  to  say  to  all,  "  Good-night !  "  m 

And  give  a  kiss  all  round.  " 

Good-night !  my  father,  mother  dear, 

Now  kiss  yoiu"  little  son ; 
Good-night !  my  friends,  both  far  and 
near. 

Good-night  to  every  one. 


Rhymes  for  Little  Ones.  83 

Good-night  I  ye  merry,  merry  birds,  qqING  TO  BED  AT  NIGHT. 

Sleep  well  till  mornmg  light ; 

Perhaps  if  you  could  sing  in  words.  Receive  ray  body,  pretty  lu'd  ; 

You  would  have  said  "  Good-night !  "  Soft  pillow,  O  receive  my  hcarl. 

And   thanks,   my  parents  kind, 

„      „  Lj.     a  „j  ,•  u*  I  These  comforts  who  for  me  provide  ; 

To  aU  my  pretty  flowers    good-n.ght  1  .    ^  ^^.,j  ^,^^jj  ^^  ^     ^.^  ' 

You  blossom  while  I  sl^ep  ;  Your  love  I'll  keep  in  mind 

And  all  the  stars  that  shine  so  bright,  ^ 

With  you  their  watches  keep.  ^^^  ^^^^  misspent  this  day  I  rue, 

My  good  things  done,  how  very  few  ! 
The  moon  is  lighting  up  the  skies,  Forgive  my  faults,  0  Lord  ; 

The  stars  are  sparkling  there  ;  This  night,  if  in  thy  grace  I  rest, 

'Tis  time  to  shut  our  weary  eyes.  To-morrow  I  may  rise  refre.sh'd. 

And  say  our  evening  prayer.  To  keep  Thy  holy  Word 

£liza  Lee  Follen.  Adelaide  O'Keeffe. 


CRADLE  SONGS. 


Bye,  baby  bunting, 
Daddy's  gone  a  hunting 
To  get  a  little  rabbit-slcin 
To  wrap  a  baby  bunting  in. 


Dance  my  baby  diddy. 

What  sbaU  thy  mother  do  with  tliee  ? 

But  sit  in  her  lap 

And  give  it  some  pap. 
And  dance  a  baby  diddy. 

Smile,  my  baby  bonny, 

What  shall  time  bring  on  thee  ? 

Sorrow  and  care, 

Frowns  and  grey  hair. 
So  smile  my  baby  bonny. 

Laugh,  my  baby  beauty, 
What  will  time  do  to  thee  ? 

Fixrrow  your  cheek. 

Wrinkle  your  neck. 
So  laugh,  my  baby  beauty. 

Dance,  my  baby  deary. 

Thy  mother  will  never  be  weary, 

Frohc  and  play 

Now  while  you  may. 
And  dance,  my  baby  deary. 


HusH-A-BYE  baby,  on  the  tree  top. 
When  the  wind   blows,  the  cradle  will 

rock  ; 
When  the  bough  bends,  the  cradle  will 

faU, 
Down  will    come  baby,  bough,  cradle 

and  all 


Johnny  shall  have  a  new  bonnet. 

And  Johnny  shall  go  to  the  fair, 
And  Johnny  shall  have  a  blue  ribbon 

To  tie  up  his  bonny  brown  hair, 
And  why  may  I  not  love  Johnny  ? 

And  why  may  not  Johnny  love  me  ? 
And  why  may  I  not  love  Johnny, 

As  well  as  another  body  ? 
And  here's  a  leg  for  a  stocking, 

And  here's  a  leg  for  a  shoe. 
And  he  has  a  kiss  for  his  daddy. 

And  two  for  his  mammy,  I  trow. 
And  why  may  I  not  love  Johnny  ? 

And  why  may  not  Johnny  love  me  ? 
And  why  may  I  not  love  Johnny, 

As  well  as  another  body  ? 


SWEET  AND   LOW. 

Sweet  and  low,  sweet  and  low. 

Wind  of  the  western  sea, 
Low,  low,  breathe  and  blow. 

Wind  of  the  western  sea  I 
Over  the  rolling  waters  go. 
Come   from   the   dropping    moon   and 
blow, 

Blow  him  again  to  me  ; 
While  my  Uttle  one,  while   my  pretty 
one  sleeps. 

Sleep  and  rest,  sleep  and  rest. 
Father  will  come  to  thee  soon ; 

Rest,  rest,  on  mother's  breast. 
Father  will  come  to  thee  soon  ; 

Father  will  come  to  his  babe  in    the 
nest. 

Silver  sails  all  out  of  the  west 
Under  the  silver  moon  : 

Sleep,  my  httle  one,  sleep,   my  pretty 
one.  sleep. 

Lord  Tennyson. 


Cradle  Songs 


85 


SLEEP,    SLEEP,    BEAUTY 
BRIGHT. 

Sleep,  sleep,  beauty  bright. 
Dreaming  ia  the  joy3  of  night ; 
Sleep,  sleep  ;   in  thy  sleep 
Little  sorrows  sit  and  weep. 

Sweet  babe,  in  thy  face 
Soft  desires  I  can  trace, 
Secret  joys  and  secret  smiles. 
Little  pretty  infant  wiles. 

As  thy  softest  limbs  I  feel, 
Smiles  as  of  the  morning  steal 
O'er  thy  cheek,  and  o'er  thy  breast 
Where  thy  little  heart  doth  rest. 

Oh  the  cunning  wiles  that  creep 
In  thy  little  heart  asleep  ! 
When  thy  little  heart  doth  wake 
Then  the  dreadful  hght  shall  break. 

William  Blake. 


SWEET   DREAMS  FORM  A 
SHADE. 

PwEET  dreams,  form  a  shade 
O'er  my  lovely  infant's  head  ; 
Sweet  dreams  of  pleasant  streams 
By  happy,  silent,  moony  beams. 

Sweet  sleep,  with  soft  down 
Weave  thy  brows  an  infant  crown. 
Sweet  sleep,  angel  mild, 
Hover  o'er  my  happy  child. 

Sweet  smiles  in  the  night 
Hover  o'er  my  delight ; 
Sweet  smiles,  mother's  smiles. 
All  the  live-long  night  beguiles. 

Sweet  moans,  dove-like  sighs. 
Chase  not  slumbers  from  thy  eyes. 
Sweet  moans,  sweeter  smiles. 
All  the  dove-Uke  moans  beguiles. 

Sleep,  sleep,  happy  child. 
All  creation  slept  and  smiled  ; 
Sleep,  sleep,  happy  sleep. 
While  o'er  thee  thy  mother  weep. 


Sweet  babe,  in  tiiy  face 
Holy  image  I  can  trace. 
Sweet  babe,  once  like  thee. 
Thy  Maker  lay  and  wept  for  me. 

Wept  for  me,  for  thee,  for  all. 
When  he  was  an  infant  small ; 
Thou  his  image  ever  sec. 
Heavenly  face  that  smiles  on  thee. 

Smiles  on  thee,  on  me,  on  all ; 
Who  became  an  infant  small ; 
Infant  smiles  are  his  own  smiles  ; 
Heaven  and  earth  to  peace  beguiles. 

William  Blake. 


liTJLIiABY,    O    liTJIiliABY. 

Lullaby  !    O  lullaby  ! 
Baby,  hush  that  httle  cry  ! 

Light  is  dying. 

Bats  are  flying. 
Bees  to-day  with  work  have  done  ; 
So,  till  comes  the  morrow's  sun. 
Let  sleep  kiss  those  bright  eyes  dry  ! 

Lullaby  !    O  luUaby. 

Lullaby  !    O  lullaby  ! 

Hush'd  are  all  things  far  and  nigh  ; 

Flowers  are  closing. 

Birds  reposing. 
All  sweet  things  with  life  are  done. 
Sweet,  till  dawns  the  morning  sun, 
Sleep  then  kiss  those  blue  eyes  dry 

LuUaby  I   0  luUaby  ! 

IF.  C.  Bennett. 


THE  MOTHER  TO  HER 

INFANT. 

Slumber  my  darling,  no  danger  is  near. 
Thy  mother  sits    by  thee  to  guard 

thy  repose  ; 
Though  the  wind    roars  aloud,  not  a 

breath  reaches  here. 
To  shake  the  white  curtains   which 

round  thee  do  close  : 
Then    slumber,  my   darling,    and   sleep 

without  fear. 
Thou    art   safe   from    all    danger,    my 

dearest,  while  here. 


86 


Poems  for  Children. 


What  is  it  the  angels  do  unto  thee  say^ 
When  thou  dost  he  smihng  so  sweet 

in  thy  sleep  ? 
Are  they  trying,  my  sweetest,  to  lure 

thee  a\Aay, 
And  leave  me  alone  in  my  sorrow 

to  weep  ? 
Oh  !    sometimes  I  fancy  they  whisper 

thy  name, 
And  would  fain  bear  thee  back  to  the 

land  whence  they  came. 

Then    never,  my    darling,    when    thou 
growest  old, 
Forget  her  who  on  thy  sweet  infancy 
smiled, 
To  whom  thou  wert  dearer  than  jewels 
and   gold, 
Who    studied    thy    looks    and    thy 
wishes,  my  child. 
Who,  Mhen  thou  didst  need  her,  was 

never  away. 
In  health  or  in  sickness,  by  night  or 
by  day. 

Tlwmas  MiUer. 


MY  DEAEEST  BABY,  GO  TO 

SLEEP. 

My  dearest  baby,  go  to  sleep, 

For  now  the  bright  round  moon  doth 

peep 
On  thy  little  snow-white  bed. 
And  upon  thy  pretty  head. 

The  silver  stars  are  shining  bright, 
And  bid  my  baby  dear  good-niglit  ; 
And  every  bird  has  gone  to  rest 
Long  since  in  its  little  nest. 

The  lambs  no  longer  run  and  leap. 

But  by  the  dasies  lie  asleep  ; 

The  flowers  have  closed  their  pretty 

eyes 
Until  the  sun  again  shall  rise. 

AU  things  are  wrapp'd  in  sweet  repose, 
The  dew  falls  noiseless  on  the  rose  ; 
So  thou  must  like  an  angel  lie 
Till  golden  morning  streaks  the  sky. 

Soon  will  I  gently  steal  to  bed. 
And  rest  beside  thy  pretty  head. 
And    all    night    keep    thee    snug    and 

warm, 
Nestling  fondly  on  my  arm. 


Then,  dearest  baby,  go  to  sleep. 
While  the  moon  doth  on  thee  peep, 
Shining  on  thy  little  bed, 
And  around  thy  pretty  head. 

Thomas  Miller. 


A   CEADLE    SONG. 

Hush  !   ray  dear,  lie  still  and  slumber  ; 

Holy  angels  guard  thy  bed  ! 
Heavenl}'  blessings  without  number 

Gently  falling  on  thy  head. 

Sleep,  my  babe  ;  thy  food  and  raiment, 
House  and  home,  thy  friends  provide  ; 

All  without  thy  care  or  payment 
All  thy  wants  are  well  supplied. 

How  much  better  thou'rt  attended 
Than  the  Son  of  God  could  be. 

When  from  Heaven  He  descended. 
And  became  a  child  like  thee  I 

Soft  and  easy  is  thy  cradle : 

Coarse  and  hard  thy  Saviour  lay : 

When  His  birth-place  was  a  stable. 
And  His  softest  bed  was  hay. 

See  the  kindly   sheplierds  round  Him, 
Telling  wonders  from  the  sky  ! 

Where  they   sought   Him,  there  they 
found  Him, 
With  His  Virgin-Mother  by. 

See  the  lovely  Babe  a-dressing : 
Lovely  Infant,  how  He  smiled  ! 

When  He  wept,  the  mother's  blessing 
Soothed  and  hush'd  the  Holy  Child. 

Lo,  He  slumbers  in  His  manger. 
Where  the  horned  oxen  fed  ; — 

Peace,  my  darling  !  here's  no  danger  I 
Here's  no  ox  a-near  thy  bed  ! — 

May'st   thou   live   to   know   and   fear 
Him, 

Trust  and  love  Him  aU  thy  days  : 
Then  go  dwell  for  ever  near  Him ; 

See  His  face,  and  sing  His  praise. 

I  could  give  thee  thousand  kisses. 
Hoping  what  I  most  desire : 

Not  a  mother's  fondest  wishes 
Can  to  greater  joys  aspire. 

Isaac  Waita. 


Cradle   Songs. 


87 


SLEEP,  BABY,  SLEEP. 

Sleep,  baby,  sleep  !  what  ails  my  dear. 
What  ails  my  darling  thus  to  cry  ? 

Be  still,  my  child,  and  lend  thine  ear. 
To  hear  me  sing  thy  lullaby. 

My  pretty  lamb,  forbear  to  weep  ; 

Be  still,  my  dear ;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 

Sleep,  baby,  sleep,  and  nothing  fear  ; 

For  whosoever  thee  offends 
By  thy  protector  threatened  are, 

And  God  and  angels  are  thj'  friends. 
Sweet  baby,  then  forbear  to  weep  ; 

Be  still,  my  babe  ;  sweet  baby,  sleep. 

George  Wither. 


liXTLLABY   OF   AN  INFANT 
CHIEF. 

Oh,    hush   thee,    my   baby !     thy   sire 

was  a  knight, 
Thy  mother  a  lady,  both  lovelj^  and 

bright ; 
The  woods  and    the   glen",    from    the 

towers  which  we  see. 
They    all    are    belonging,    dear    baby, 

to   thee. 

Oh,  fear  not  the  bugle,  though  loudlv 

it   blows  ! 
It   calls   but   the   warders   that  guard 

thy  repose ; 


Their   bows   would    be    bended,    their 

blades  would  be  red. 
Ere  the  step  of  a  foeman  draws  near 

to  thy  bed. 

Oh,   hush  thee,   my  baby !     the  time 

will  soon  come 
When    thy   sleep   shall   be   broken   by 

trumpet  and  drum  ; 
Then    hush    thee,    my   darling !     take 

rest  while  you  may ; 
For  strife  comes  with  manhood,   and 

waking   with    day. 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 


GOOD-NIGHT. 
Baby,  baby,  lay  your  head 
On  your  pretty  cradle  bed  ; 
Shut  your  eye-peeps,  now  the  day 
And  the  light  are  gone  away  ; 
All  the  clothes  are  tuck'd  in  tight ; 
Little  baby,   dear,   good  night. 

Yes,  my  darling,  well  I  know 
How  the  bitter  wind  doth  blow ; 
And  the  winter's  snow  and  rain 
Patter   on  the   window-pane  ; 
But  they  cannot  come  in  here. 
To  my  little  baby  dear. 

For  the  window  shutteth  fast, 
Till  the  stormy  night  is  past. 
And  the  curtains  warm  are  spread 
Roundabout  her  cradle  bed  ; 
So  till  morning  shineth  bright. 
Little  baby,  dear,  good  night. 

Jaiie  J'aylor. 


NURSERY   RHYMES. 


One,  two, 
Buckle  my  shoe ; 
Three,  four. 
Shut  the  door  ; 
Five,  six. 
Pick  up  sticks  ; 
Seven,  eight, 
Lay  them  straight ; 
Nine,  ten, 
A  good  fat  hen ; 
Eleven,  twelve. 
Who  will  delve  ? 
Thirteen,   fourteen. 
Maids  a  courting ; 
Fifteen,  sixteen. 
Maids  a  kissing  ; 
Seventeen,  eighteen. 
Maids  a  waiting  ; 
Nineteen,  twenty. 
My  stomach's  empty. 


A  WAS  an  apple-pie: 

B  bit  it; 

C  cut  it ; 

D  dealt  it ; 

E  ate  it ; 

F  fought  for  it ; 

G  got  it ; 

H  had  it ; 

J  joined  it ; 

K  kept  it ; 

L  longed  for  it ; 

M  mourned  for  it ; 

N  nodded  at  it; 

O  opened  it ; 

P  peeped  in  it ; 

Q  quartered  it ; 

R  ran  for  it ; 

S  stole  it ; 

T  took  it 

V  viewed  it ; 

W  wanted  it ; 

X,  Y,  Z,  and  amperse — and 

All  wish'd  for  a  piece  in  hand. 


TOM   THUMB'S   AI.PHABET. 

A  WAS  an  archer,  who  shot  at  a  frog  ; 

B  was  a  butcher,  he  had  a  great  dog  ; 

C  was  a  captain,  all  covered  with  lace  ; 

D  was  a  drunkard,  and  had  a  red  face  ; 

E  was  an  esquire,  with  pride  on  his 
brow ; 

F  was  a  farmer,  and  followed  the 
plough ; 

G  was  a  gamester,  who  had  but  ill 
luck  ; 

I  was  an  innkeeper,  who  loved  to  bouse : 

J  was  a  joiner,  and  built  up  a  house  ; 

K  is  King  Edward,  who  governs  Eng- 
land ; 

L  was  a  lady,  who  had  a  white  hand 

M  was  a  miser,  and  hoarded  up  gold 

N  was  a  nobleman,  gallant  and  bold 

O  was  an  oyster  girl,  and  went  about 
to^Ti ; 

P  was  a  parson,  and  wore  a  black  gown  ; 

Q  was  a  queen,  who  wore  a  silk  sli]) ; 

R  was  a  robber,  who  wanted  a  whip  ; 

S  was  a  sailor,  and  spent  all  he  got ; 

T  was  a  tinker,  and  mended  a  pot ; 

U  was  an  usurer,  a  miserable  elf ; 

V  was  a  vintner,  who  drank  all  him- 
self; 

W  was  a  watchman,  and  guarded  the 
door ; 

X  was  expensive,  and  so  became  poor  ; 

y  was  a  youth,  that  did  not  love 
school ; 

Z  was  a  zany,  a  poor  harmless  fool. 


One  old  Oxford  ox  opening  oysters  ; 
Two  tee-totums  totally  tired  of  trying 

to  trot  to  Tad  bury  ; 
Three  tall  tigers  tippling  tenpcnny  tea  ; 
Four  fat  friars  fanning  fainting  Heas  ; 
Five  frippy  Frenchmen  foolishly  lishing 

for   iliea  ; 


Nursery   Rhymes. 


89 


Six  sportsmen  shooting  snipes  ; 

Seven  Severn  salmons  swallowing 
shrimps  ; 

Eight  Englishmen  eagerly  examining 
Europe ; 

Nine  nimble  noblemen  nibbling  non- 
pareils ; 

Ten  tinkers  tinkling  upon  ten  tin 
tinder-boxes  with  ten  tenpenny 
tacks ; 

Eleven  elephants  eFegantly  equipt ; 

Twelve  topographical  topographers 
typically    translating    types. 


BIRTHDAYS. 

MoNnAY's  child  is  fair  of  face, 
Tuesday's  child  is  full  of  grace, 
Wednesday's  child  is  full  of  woe, 
Thursday's  child  has  far  to  go, 
Friday's  child  is  loving  and  giving, 
Saturday's   child   works   hard   for   its 

living. 
And  a  child  that's  born  on  the  Sabbath 

day 
Is  fair  and  wise  and  good  and  gay. 


Thirty  days  hath  September, 
April,  June,  and  November  ; 
February  has  twenty-eight  alone. 
All  the  rest  have  thirty-one. 
Excepting  Icap-j'car,  that's  the  time 
When  February's  days  are  twenty-nine. 


Mi M-T I  PLICATION  is  vexation, 

Division  is  as  bad  ; 
The  Rule  of  Three  perplexes  me 

And  Practice  drives  me  mad. 


There  was  a  monkey  cUmb'd  up  a  tree, 
When  he  fell  down,  then  do^vn  fell  he. 

There  was  a  crow  sat  on  a  stone. 
When  he  was  gone,  then  there  was  none. 


There  was  an  old  wife  did  cat  an  apple. 
When  she  had  eat  two,  she  had  eat  a 
couple. 

There  was  a  horse  going  to  a  mill, 
When  he  went  on,  he  stood  not  still. 

There  was  a  butcher  cut  his  thumb. 
When  It  did  bleed,  then  blood  did  come. 

There  was  a  jockey  ran  a  race. 
When  he  ran  fast,  he  ran  apace. 

There  was  a  cobbler  clouting  shoon. 
When  they  were  mended,  they  were 
done. 

There  was  a  navy  went  into  Spain, 
When  it  return'd,  it  came  again. 


Sing  a  song  of  sixpence, 

A  pocket  full  of  rye  ; 
Four  and  twenty  blackbirds 

Baked  in  a  pie  ; 

When  the  pie  was  opened 

The  birds  began  to  sing ; 
Was  not  that  a  dainty  dish 

To  set  before  the  king  ? 

The  king  was    in    his    counting-house 

Counting  out  his  money  ; 
The  queen  was  in  the  parlour 

Eating  bread  and  honey  ; 

The  maid  was  in  the  garden 

Hanging  out  the  clothes. 
There  came  a  little  blackbird 

And  snapt  oS  her  nose. 


When  good  King  Arthur  ruled  this  land. 

He  was  a  goodly  king  ; 
He  stole  three  peclvs  of  barley  meal. 

To  make  a  bag-pudding. 

A  bag-pudding  the  King  did  make. 
And  stuif'd  it  well  witli  plums  ; 

And  in  it  put  great  lumps  of  fat. 
As  big  as  my  two  thumbs. 


^ 


90 


Poems  for  Children. 


The  king  and  queen  did  eat  thereof, 

And  noblemen  beside  ; 
And  what  they  could  not  eat  that  night, 

The  queen  next  morning  fried. 


Poor  old  Robinson  Crusoe  ! 
Poor  old  Robinson  Crusoe  ! 
They  made  him  a  coat 
Of  an  old  nanny  goat, 
I  wonder  how  they  could  do  so  ! 
With  a  ring  a  ting  tang, 
And  a  ring  a  ting  tang, 
Poor  old  Robinson  Crusoe  i 


A  bowful  of  nuts  we  sat  down  to  crack, 
Sat  down  to  crack,  sat  down  to  crack ; 
A  bowful  of  nuts  we  sat  down  to  crack 
Around  about  merry  ma  TaiLsy. 

What  will  you  give  us  to  tell  his  name. 
To  tell  his  name,  to  tell  his  name, 
What  will  you  give  us  to  tell  his  name 
Around  about  merry  ma  Tansy. 

The  last  time  is  the  catching  time, 
The  catching  time,  the  catching  time, 
The  last  time  is  the  catching  time. 
Around  about  merry  ma  Tansy. 


Doctor  Faustus  was  a  good  man. 
He  whipt  his  scholars  now  and  then  ; 
When  he  whip'd  them   he  made  them 

dance 
Out  of  Scotland  into  France, 
Out  of  France  into  Spain, 
And  then  he  whipp'd  them  back  again  ! 


Old  King  Cole 

Was  a  merry  old  soul. 

And  a  merry  old  soul  was  he ; 

He  called  for  his  pipe. 

And  he  called  for  his  bowl. 

And  he  called  for  his  fiddlers  three. 

Every  fiddler,  he  had  a  fiddle. 

And  a  very  fine  fiddle  had  he  ; 

Twee  tweedle  dee,  tweedle  dee, 

Went  the  fiddlers. 

Oh,  there's  none  so  rare. 

As  can  compare 

With  King  Cole  and  his  fiddlers  three  ! 


JENNY  WREN'S  COURTSHIP. 

'TwAS  once  upon  a  time 

When  Jenny  Wren  was  young. 
So  dantily  she  danced. 

And  so  prettily  she  sung  ; 
Robin  Redbreast  lost  his  heart. 

For  he  was  a  gallant  bird  ; 
So  he  doffed  his  hat  to  Jenny  Wren, 

Requesting  to  be  heard. 

O  dearest  Jenny  Wren, 

If  you  wiU  but  be  mine. 
You  shall  feed  on  cherry-pie,  you  shall. 

And  drink  new  currant  wine  ; 
I'll  dress  you  like  a  goldfinch. 

Or  any  peacock  gay  ; 
So,  dearest  Jen,  if  you'll  be  mine, 

Let  U3  appoint  the  day. 

Jenny  blushed  behind  her  fan. 

And  thus  declared  her  mind 
Since,  dearest  Bob,  I  love  you  well, 

I'U  take  your  offer  kind  ; 
Cherry-pie  is  very  nice, 

And  so  is  currant  wine  ; 
But  I  must  wear  my  plain  brown  gown. 

And  never  go  too  fiiie. 


JIN»ER    RING-. 

Here  we  go  round  a  jinger  ring, 
A  jinger  ring,  a  jinger  ring  ; 
Here  we  go  round  a  jinger  ring. 
Around  about  merry  ma  Tansy. 


Robin  Redbreast  rose  up  early 

AU  at  the  break  of  day. 
And  he  flew  to  Jenny  Wren's  house, 

And  sung  a  roundelay  ; 
He  sang  of  Robin  Redbreast, 

And  little  Jenny  Wren, 
And  when  he  came  to  the  end 

He  then  began  again. 


Nursery   Rhymes. 


91 


» 


JENNY  WBEN. 

Jenny  Whkn  fell  sick 

Upon  a  merry  time; 
In  came  Robin  Redbreast, 

And  brought  her  sops  and  wine. 

Eat  well  of  the  sop,  Jenny, 
Drink  well  of  the  wine  ; 

Thank  you,  Robin,  kindly. 
You  shall  be  mine. 

Jenny,  she  got  well. 

And  stood  upon  her  feet. 

And  told  Robin  plainly. 
She  lov'd  him  not  a  bit. 

Robin  being  angry, 

Hopped  upon  a  twig, 
Saying,  Out  upon  you,  Jenny  ! 

Fy  upon  you,  bold  faced  jig  ! 


A  SONG  SET  TO   FIVE 
FINGERS 

1.  This  little  pig  went  to  market. 
2    This  little  pig  stayed  at  home. 

3.  Tliis  little  pig  got  roast  beef. 

4.  This  little  pig  got  none. 

5.  This  little  pig  cried  wee,  wee,  all  the 
way  home. 


And  when  lie  ran,  as  I  am  told. 
Ho  ne'er  stood  still  for  young  or  old. 
Tho'  ne'er  instructed  by  a  cat. 
He  knew  a  mouse  was  not  a  rat : 
One  day,  as  I  am  certified. 
He  took  a  whim  and  fairly  died ; 
And,  as  I'm  told,  by  men  of  sense, 
He  never  has  been  walking  since. 


Sing,  sing,  what  shall  I  sing  ? 
The  cat  has  oaten  the  pudding-string 
I)o,  do,  what  shall  I  do  ? 
The  cat  has  bitten  it  quite  in  two 


A  CAT  came  fiddling  out  of  a  barn,  • 

With  a  pair  of  bagpipes  under  her  arm  ; 

She  coidd  sing  nothing  but  fiddle  cum 
fee. 

The  mouse  has  married  the  bumble- 
bee. 

Pipe,  cat — dance,  mouse, 

We'll  have  a  wedding  at  our  good 
house. 


There  were  two  blackbirds, 

Sitting  on  a  hill. 
The  one  named  Jack, 

The  other  named  Jill ; 
Fly  away.  Jack  ! 
Fly  away,  Jill ! 
Come  again.  Jack  1 
Come  again,  Jill  I 


There  was  a  little  Rabbit  sprig, 
Which  being  little  was  not  big  ; 
He  always  walked  upon  his  feet. 
And  never  fasted  when  he  eat. 
When  from  a  place  he  ran  away. 
He  never  at  that  place  did  stay  ; 


A  Fro(!  he  would  a  wooing  go 

Sing  hcigho  says  Roidey, 
Whether  his  mother  would  let  him  or  no, 
With  a  rmdcy   foivlcy  gammon 

and  spinach, 
Heiglio  says  Anthony  Rowley. 

So  off  he  marched  with  his  opera  hat, 

Hcigho  says  Roivley, 
And  on  the  way  he  met  with  a  rat, 

With  a  rowley  powlcy,  etc. 

And  when  they  came  to  the  mouse's  hall, 

Heigho  says  Rowley, 
They   gave   a   loud    knock,   and   they 
gave  a  loud  call 

With  a  rowley  powley,  etc. 

Pray,  Mrs.  Mouse,  are  you  witliin  ? 

Jleigho  mys  Roidey, 
Yes,  kind  sir,  I  am  sitting  to  spin, 

With  a  rowley  powley,  etc 


92 


Poems  for  Children. 


Pray,   Mrs.   Mouse,   will  you    give   us 
some  beer, 

Heigho  says  Rowley, 
For  Froggy  and  I  are  fond  of  good  cheer. 
With  a  rowley  poivley,  etc. 

Now   while   they   were   all   a    merry- 
making, 

Heiglvo  says  Rowley, 
The  cat  and  her  kittens  came  tumbling 
in. 

With  a  rowley  fowley,  etc. 

The  cat  she  seized  the  rat  by  the  crown, 

HeigJio  says  Rowley, 
The  kittens  they  pulled  the  little  mouse 
down. 

With  a  rowley  powley,  etc. 

This  put  poor  Frog  in  a  terrible  fright, 

Heiglu)  says  Rouiey, 
So  he  took  up  his  hat,  and  he  wished 
them  good  night. 

With  a  rowley  powley,  etc. 

But  as  Froggy  was  crossing  over  a  brook, 

Heigho  says  Rowley, 
A  lily-white  duck  came  and    gobbled 
him  up. 

With  a  rowley  powley,  etc. 

So  there  was  an  end  of  one,  two   and 
three, 

Heiglio  says  Rowley, 
The   rat,    the    mouse,    and    the    little 
Froggie  ! 

With  a  rowley  powley    gammon 

and  spinach, 
Heigho  says  Anthony  Rowley. 


A  CARRION  crow  sat  on  an  oak, 

Fol  de  riddle,  lol  de  riddle,  hi  ding  do. 

Watching  a  tailor  shape  his  cloak  ; 
Sing  heigh  ho,  the  carrion  crow, 
Fol  de  riddle,  lol  de  riddle,  hi  ding  do. 

Wife  bring  me  my  old  bent  bow, 

Fol  de  riddle,  lol  de  riddle,  hi  ding  do, 

That  I  may  shoot  yon  carrion  crow  ; 
Sing  heigh  ho,  the  carrion  crow, 
Fol  de  riddle,  lol  de  riddle,  hi  ding  do. 

The  tailor  he  shot  and  missed  his  mark, 
Fol  de  riddle,  lol  de  riddle,  hi  ding  do  ; 

And  shot  his  own  sow  quite  through  the 
heart ; 
Sing  heigh  ho,  the  carrion  crow, 
Fol  de  riddle,  lol  de  riddle,  hi  ding  do. 

Wife  bring  brandy  in  a  spoon  ; 

Fol  (le  riddle,  lol  de  riddle,  hi  ding  do, 

For  our  old  sow  is  in  a  swoon  ; 
Sing  heigh  ho,  the  carrion  crow, 
Fol  de  riddle,  lol  de  riddle,  hi  ding  do. 


Ba,  ba,  black  sheep. 

Have  you  any  wool  f 
Yes  sir,  no  sir. 

Three  bags  full. 
One  for  my  master. 

And  one  for  my  dame, 
But  none  for  the  little  boy 

Who  cries  in  the  lane. 


A  LITTLE  cock-sparrow  sat  on  a  green 

tree, 
And    he   cherruped    he   cherruped    so 

merry  was  he  ; 
A   naughty   boy   came   with   his   wee 

bow  and  arrow. 
Determined  to  shoot  this  little  cock- 
sparrow. 
This    Uttle    cock-sparrow  shall     make 

me  a  stew. 
And  his  giblets  shall  make  me  a  little 

pie,  too ; 
Oh,   no !    said   the  sparrow,   I   won't 

make  a  stew. 
So  he  flapped  his  wings  and  away  he 

flew  ! 


Bat,  bat,  come  under  my  hat. 
And  I'll  give  you  a  slice  of  bacon  ; 

And  when  I  bake, 

I'll  give  you  a  cake. 
If  I  am  not  mistaken. 


4 


Cook  a  doodle  doo  ! 

My  dame  has  lost  her  shoe  ; 

]My  master's  lost  his  fiddling  stick. 

And  don't  know  what  to  do 


Nursery   Rhymes. 


93 


Cock  a  doodle  doo  ! 

What  is  my  dame  to  do  ? 

Till  master  finds  hia  fiddling  stick, 

She'll  dance  without  her  shoe. 

Cock  a  doodle  doo  ! 

My  dame  has  lost  her  shoo. 

And  master's  found  his  fiddling  stick 

Sing  doodle  doodle  doo  ! 

Cock  a  doodle  doo  ! 

IVIy  dame  will  dance  with  yon. 

While  master  fiddles  his  liddling  stick. 

For  dame  and  doodle  doo. 


There  I  met  an  old  man 

That  would  not  say  his  prayers, 
I  took  him  by  the  left  leg, 

And  threw  him  down  stairs. 


Hark,  hark 

The  dogs  do  bark. 
Beggars  are  coming  to  town  ; 

Some    in   jags 

Some  in  rags 
And  some  in  velvet  gowns. 


The  Cuckoo  is  a  fine  bird. 
Ho  sings  as  ho  fiies, 

He  brings  us  good  tidings, 
He  tells  us  no  hes. 

Ho  suelvS  little  birds'  eggs 
To  make  his  voice  clear. 

And  when  he  sings  "  Cuckoo,' 
The  summer  is  near. 


DiDDLEDY,  diddledy,  dumpty; 
The  cat  ran  up  the  plum-tree. 

I  lay  you  a  crown 

I'll  fetch  you  down  ; 
So  diddledy,  diddledy,  dumpty. 


Hi!    diddle  diddle. 

The  cat  and  the  fiddle. 
The  cow  jumped  over  tho  moon  ; 

The  little  dog  laughed 

To  see  such  sport, 
While  tho  dish  ran  after  the  spoon. 


Higglepy,  Piggleby, 

My  black  hen. 
She  lays  eggs 

For  gentlemen  ; 
Sometimes  nine, 

And  sometimes  ten, 
Higglepy,   Piggleby, 

My  black  hen. 


UiNG,  dong,  bell, 

Pussy's  in  the  well  I 

Who  put  her  in  ? 

Little  Tommy  Lin. 

Who  pulled  her  out  ? 

Dog  with  long  snout. 

What  a  naughty  boy  was  that 

To  drown  poor  pussy-cat, 

Who  never  did  any  harm, 

But  kill'd  the  mice  in  his  master's  barn. 


I  HAD  a  little  pony, 

His  name  was  dapjilo  gray, 
I  sent  him  to  a  lady. 

To  ride  a  mile  away. 

She  whipped  him,  she  slashed  him, 
She  rode  hiin  through  the  mire  ; 

I  would  not  lend  my  pony  now 
For  the  lady's  hire. 


Goosey,  goosey    gander. 
Whither  shall  I  wander  ? 

Up  stairs,  down  stairs. 

And   in  my  lady's  chamber  : 


Lady-bird,  lady-bird,  fly  away  home. 
Thy  house  is  on  fire,  thy  children  all 

gone. 
All  but  one  that  lies  under  a  stone. 
Fly   thee   home,    lady-bird,    ere   it   is 

gon-. 


94 


Poems  for  Children. 


POOR  COCK  ROBIN. 

Who  killed  Cock  Robin  ? 
I  said  the  Sparrow, 
With  my  bow  and  arrow, 

I   kiDed   Cock   Robin. 

Who  saw  him  die  ? 

I,  said  the  Magpie, 

With  my  httle  eye, 
I  saw  him  die. 

Who  caught  his  blood  ? 

I,  said  the  Fish, 

With  my  httle  dish, 
I  caught  his  blood. 

Who  made  his  shioud  ? 

I,  said  the  Eagle, 

With  my  thread  and  needle, 
I  made  his  shroud. 

Who'll  dig  his  grave  ? 
The  Owl,  with  aid 
Of  mattock  and  spade 

Will  dig  Robin's  grave. 

Who'll  be  the  parson  ? 

I,   said   the   Rook, 

With  my  little  book, 
I'll   be   the  parson. 

Who'll  be  the  clerk  ? 

I,  said  the  Lark, 

If  not  in  the  dark, 
I'll  be  the  clerk. 

Who'll  carry  him  to  the  grave  ? 

I,  said  the  Kite, 

If  not  in  the  night, 
I'll  carry  him  to  his  grave. 

Who'll  be  chief  mourner  ? 

I,  said  the  Swan, 

I'm  sorry  he's  gone, 
I'll  be  chief  mourner. 


Who'll  lead  the  way  ? 
I,  said  the  Martin, 
When  ready  for  starting 

And  I'll  lead  the  way. 

All  the  birds  in  the  air 
Began  sighing  and  sobbing. 

When  they  heard  the  bell  toll 
For  poor  Cock  Robin. 

To  all  it  concerns. 
This  notice  apprises. 

The  sparrow's  for  trial 
At  next  bird  assizes. 


Why  is  Pussy  in  bed  ? 
She  is  sick,  says  the  fly. 
And  I  fear  she  will  die  ; 

And  that's  why  she's  in  bed. 

Pray  what's  her  disorder  ? 
A  lock'd-jaw  is  come  on. 
Said  the  fine  downy  swan  ; 

And  that's  her  disorder. 

Who  makes  her  nice  gruel  ? 
That  she  might  not  get  worse. 
Dog  Tray  is  her  nurse, 

And  makes  her  nice  gruel. 

Pray  who  is  her  doctor  ? 

I,  said  famed  Mister  Punch, 
At  my  back  a  great  hunch  ; 

But  I  am  her  doctor. 

Who  think's  she'll  recover  ? 
I  do,  sir,  said  the  Deer, 
And  I  thought  so  last  year ; 

I  think  she'll  recover. 

And  when  Puss  is  quite  well. 
All  shall  have  noble  fare  ; 
Beasts,  and  fowls  of  the  air. 

And  we'll  ring  the  great  bell. 


Who'll  bear  his  pall  ? 
We,  said  the  Wren, 
Both  the  cock  and  the  hen, 

We'll  bear  the  pall. 

Who'll  toll  the  hoM  ? 

I,  said  the  Bull, 

Because  I  can  pull. 
And  I'll  pull  the  bull. 


Pussy-cat,  pussy-cat,  where  have  you 

been  ? 
I've  been  to  London  to  look  at  the 

queen. 
Pussy-cat,    pussy-cat,    what    did    you 

there  ? 
I  frighten'd  a  little  mouse  under  the 

chair. 


Nursery   Rhymes. 


95 


Sneel,  snaul. 
Robbers  are  coming  to  pull  down  your 
wall ; 

Sneel,  snaul. 

Put  out  your  horn. 
Robbers  are  coining  to  steal  your  corn, 
Coming  at  four  o'clock  in  the  mom. 


"  Ah,  ah  !  "  said  the  Farmer,  "  I  think 

you're  quite  dead. 
And  no  more  you'll  trouble  the  town, 

e'oh  !  " 


The  Fox  jumped  up  on  a  moonlight 

night. 
The  stars  were  shining  and  all  things 

bright ; 
"  Oh,  oh  !  "  said  the  Fox,  "  its  a  very 

fine  night 
For    me    to    go    through    the    town, 

e'oh  !  " 

The  Fox  when  ho  came  to  yonder  stile. 
He  hfted  his  ears  and  he  listened  a 

while ; 
"  Oh,  oh  !  "  said  the  Fox,  "  it  is  but 

a  short  mile 
From  this  to  yonder  town,  e'oh  !  " 

The  Fox,  when  he  came  to  the  J^'armer's 

gate. 
Who  should  he  see  but  the  Farmer's 

Drake, 
"  I   love   you   well   for   your   master's 

sake. 
And  I  long  to  be  picking  your  bones 

e'oh  !  " 

The  grey  Goose,  she  ran  round  the  hay- 
stack, 

"  Oh,  oh  !  "  said  the  Fox,  you  are  very 
fat,  ^ 

And  you'll  do  very  well  to  ride  on 
my  back 

From  this  to  yonder  town,  e'oh  !  " 

The    Farmer's    wife   she   jumped    out 

of  bed. 
And   out  of  the   window  she   popped 

her  head, 
"  Oh  husband  !  oh  husband  !  the  Oeese 

are  all  dead. 
For  the  Fox  has  been  through  the  town, 

e'oh  !  " 

The  Farmer  he  loaded  his  pistol  with 

lead. 
And  shot  the  old  rogue  of  a  Fox  through 

the  head, 


The  Hart  he  loves  the  high  wood. 
The  Hare  she  loves  the  hill, 

The  Knight  he  loves  his  bright  sword, 
The  Lady  loves  her  will. 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

Were  fighting  for  the  crown  ; 
The  Lion  beat  the  Unicorn 

All  round  about  the  town. 
Some  gave  them  white  bread. 

And  some  gave  them  brown  ; 
Some  gave  them  plum-cake. 

And  sent  them  out  of  town. 


There  was  a  frog  lived  in  a  well, 

Kitty  alone,  Kitty  alone  ; 
There  was  a  frog  lived  in  a  well 

Kitty  alone,  and  I ! 

There  was  a  frog  lived  in  a  well, 
And  a  gay  mouse  in  a  mill. 

Cock  me  cary,  Kitty  alone, 
Kitty  alone  and  I 

This  frog  he  would  a  wooing  ride, 

Kitty  alone,  etc. 
This  frog  he  would  a  wooing  ride 
And  on  a  snail  he  got  astride. 

Cock  me  cary,  etc. 

He   rode   till   he   came   to   my    Lady 
Mouse  hall, 
Kitty  alone,  etc. 
He   rode  till   he   came   to     my    Laiiy 

Mouse  hall. 
And  here  he  did  both  knock  and  call. 
Cock  me  cary,  etc. 

Quoth  he.  Miss  Mouse,   I'm  come   to 
thee, 
Kitty  alone,  etc. 
Quoth  he,  Miss  Mouse,  I'm  come  to 

thee. 
To  see  if  thou  canst  fancy  me, 
Cock  me  cary,  etc. 


96 


Poems  for  Children. 


Quoth  she,  answer,  I'll  give  you  none, 

Kitty  alone,  etc. 
Quoth  she,  answer,  I'll  give  you  none. 
Until  my  Uncle  Rat  come  home. 

Cock  me  cary,  etc. 

And  when  her  Uncle  Rat  came  home, 

Kitty  alone,  etc. 
And  when  her  Uncle  Rat  came  home. 
Who's  been  here  since  I've  been  gone  ? 

Cock  me  cary,  etc. 

Sir,  there's  been  a  worthy  gentleman, 

Kitty  alone,  etc. 
Sir,  there's  been  a  worthy  gentleman, 
That's  been  here  since  you've  been  gone. 

Cock  me  cary,  etc. 

The  frog  he  came  whistling  through 
the  brook, 
Kitty  alone,  etc. 
The   frog   he  came   whistling  through 

the  brook, 
And  there  he  met  with  a  dainty  duck. 
Cock  me  cary,  etc. 

This  duck  she  swallowed  him  up  with 
a  pluck, 
Kitty  alone,  Kitty  alone  ; 
This  duck  she  swallowed  him  up  with 

a  pluck. 
So  there's  an  end  of  my  history. 
Cock  me  cary,  Kitty  alone, 
Kitty  alone,  and  I. 


Here  we  go  up,  up,  up, 

And  here  we  go  down,  down,  downy  ; 
And  here  we  go  backwards  and  forwards 

And  here  we  go  round,  round,  roundy. 


FiDDLE-DE-DEB,  fiddle-dc-dee, 

The  fly  has  married  the  humble-bee  ; 

They  went  to  church,  and  married  was 

she 
The  fly  has  married  the  humble-bee. 


Pussycat  Mole 
Jumped  over  a  coal. 
And  in  her  best  petticoat  burnt  a  great 

hole. 
Poor  Pussy's  weeping,  she'll  have    no 

more  milk. 
Until  her  best  petticoat's  mended  with 
Bilk. 


1 


YoTTNG  lambs  to  sell ! 

Young  lambs  to  sell ! 
If  I'd  as  much  money  as  I  could  tell. 
I  never  would  cry — Young  lambs  to 
seUl 


Four  and  twenty  tailors  went  to  kill 

a  snail. 
The  best  man  among  them  durst  not 

touch  her  tail ; 
She   put   out  her   horns   like   a  little 

Kyloe  cow. 
Run,   tailors,   run,   or  she'll   kill   you 

all  e'en  now. 


To  market,  to  market,  to  buy  a  fat  pig. 
Home  again,  homo  again,  dancing 
a  jig; 

To  market,  to  market,  to  buy  a  fat  hog, 
Home  again,  home  again,  jiggety-jog. 


Hey,  my  kitten,  my  kitten, 
And  hey,  my  kitten,  my  deary 

Such  a  sweet  pet  as  this 
Was  neither  fat  nor  weary. 


Please  to  remember 
The  fifth  of  November, 

Gunpowder  treason  and  plot ; 
I  know  no  reason 
Why  gunpowder  treason 

Should  ever  be  forgot. 


Nursery   Rhymes. 


97 


Pease-pudt)ino  hot, 

Peasc-i)uclding  coKl, 
Pease-pudding  in  the  pot. 

Nine  days  old. 
Some  like  it  hot, 

Soino  like  it  cold, 
Some  like  it  in  the  pot. 

Nine  days  old. 


If  all  the  world  were  apple  pie, 

And  all  the  sea  were  ink, 
And  all  the  trees  were  bread  and  cheese. 

What  should  we  have  to  drink  ? 


I  SAW  a  ship  a-sailing 

A-sailing  on  the  sea  ; 
And,  oh  !    it  was  all  laden 

With  pretty  things  for  thee  I 

There  were  comfits  in  the  cabin, 

And  apples  in  the  hold  ; 
The  sails  were  made  of  silk, 

And  the  masts  were  made  of  gold. 

The  four-and-twenty  sailors 
That  stood  between  the  declcs. 

Were  four-and-twenty  white  mice. 
With  chains  about  their  necks, 

The  captain  was  a  duck. 
With  a  packet  on  his  back. 

And  when  the  ship  began  to  move. 
The  captain  said,  "  Quack,  quack  ! 


I  HAD  a  little  nut  tree, 

Nothing  would  it  bear. 
But  a  silver  nutmeg. 

And   a  golden  pear. 
The  King  of  Spain's  daughter 

Came  to  visit  me. 
And  all  was  because  of 

iMy  little  nut  tree. 
I  s!<i|)i)ed  over  water 

I  danced  over  sea, 
And  all  the  birds  in  the  air 
Could  not  catch  me. 


Hot-cross  buns  I 

Hot-cross    buns  ! 

One  a  penny,  two  a  penny. 

Hot-cross  buns  ! 

Hot-cross   buns  ! 
Hot-cross  buns  ! 
If  you  have  no  daughters, 
Give  them  to  your  sons. 


Is   John   Smith   within  ? 
Yes,  that  he  is. 
Can  he  set  a  shoe  ? 
Ay,  marry,  two, 
Here  a  nail,  there  a  nail 
Tick,  tack,  too. 


Mr.  East  gave  a  feast ; 
Mr.  North  laid  the  cloth  ; 
Mr.  West  did  his  best  ; 
Mr.    South    burnt   his    mouth 
With  eating  a  cold  potato. 


Pat-a-oake,  pat-a-cake,  baker's  man  ! 
So  I  will,  master,  as  fast  as  I  can  : 
Pat  it  and  prick  it  and  mark  it  with  T, 
Put  in  the  oven  for  Tommy  and  me. 


I'll  tell  you  a  story. 

About  Jack  a  Nory, — 
And  now  my  story's  begun : 

I'll  tell  you  another 

About  Jack  and  his    brother, — 
And  now  mj'  story's  done. 


As  I  walked  by  myself, 
And  talked  to  myself. 

Myself  said   unto   me, 
Look  to  thyself. 
Take  care  of  thyself, 

For  nobody  cares  for  thee. 


98 


Poems   for  Children. 


I  answer'd  myself, 
And  said  to  myself, 

In  the  self-same  repartee, 
Look  to  thyself. 
Or  not  look  to  thyself, 

The  self-same  thing  will  be. 


If  I  had  as  much  money  as  I  conld 

spend, 
I  never  would  cry  old  chairs  to  mend  ; 
Old    chairs    to    mend,    old    chairs    to 

mend  ; 
I  never  would  cry  old  chairs  to  mend. 

If  I  had  as  much  money  as  I  could  tell, 
I  never  would  cry  old  clothes  to  sell ; 
Old  clothes  to  sell,  old  clothes  to  sell ; 
I  never  would  cry  old  clothes  to  sell. 


I  spent  a  penny  of  it,  I  gave  a  penny  of 
it. 
And  I  took  nothing  home  to  my  wife. 

Oh!  my  little  nothing,  pretty  little 
nothing. 

What  will  nothing  buy  for  my  wife  ; 
I  have  nothing,  I  spend  nothing, 

I  love  nothing  better  than  my  wife. 


There  was  an  old  woman  who  lived  in  a 

shoe. 
She  had  so  many   children  she   didn't 

know  what  to  do  ; 
She  gave  them  some  broth  without  any 

bread. 
She  whipped  them  all  round,  and  put 

them  to  bed. 


One  misty,  moiaty  morning. 

When  cloudy  was  the  weather, 
There  I  met  an  old  man 

Clothed   all  in  leather  ; 
Clothed  all  in  leather. 

With  cap  under  his  chin, — 
How  do  you  do,  and  how  do  you  do. 

And  how  do  you  do  again  ? 


I  LOVE  sixpence,  pretty  little  sixpence, 

I  love  sixpence,  better  than  my  life  ; 

I  spent  a  penny  of  it,  I  gave  a  penny 

of  it. 

And  I  took  fourpence  home  to  my 

wife. 

Oh!   my  little  fourpence,  pretty  little 
fourpence, 
I  love  fourpence  better  than  my  life ; 
I  spent  a  penny  of  it,  I  gave  a  penny 
of  it. 
And  I   took  twopence  home  to  my 
wife. 

Oh !   my  little  twopence,  pretty  little 
twopence, 
I    love   twopence   better     than   my 
Ufo; 


There  was  an  old  woman  toss'd  \ip  in 

a  basket 

Nineteen  times  as  high  as  the  moon; 

Where  she  was  2oing  I  couldn't  but  ask 

it, 

For  in  her  hand  she  carried  a  broom. 

"Old  woman,  old  woman,  old  woman," 
quoth  T, 
"  O  whither,  O  whither,  O  whither, 
so  high  ?  " 
"To  brush  the  cobwebs  off  the  sky!  " 
"  Shall  I  go  with  thee  ?  "  "  Ay,  by- 
and-bv." 


There  was  an  old  woman 
Lived  under  a  hill ; 

And  if  she's  not  gone. 
She  lives  there  still. 


There  was  an  old  woman,  and  what  do 

you  think? 
She   lived  upon  nothing   but   victuals 

and  drink  : 
Victuals  and  drink  were  the  chief  of  her 

diet  : 
Tliis  tiresome  old  woman  could  never 

be  quiet. 


Nursery  Rhymes. 


99 


She  went  to  the  baker  to  buy  her  some 
bread, 

And  when  she  came  home  her  old  luis- 
hand  was  dead  ; 

She  went  to  tlie  clerk  to  toll  the  bell. 

And  when  she  came  back  her  old  hus- 
band was  welL 


Here's  a  poor  widow  from  Babylon 
With  six  poor  children  all  alone : 
One  can  bake  and  one  can  brew. 
One  can  shape,  and  one  can  sew, 
One  can  sit  at  the  fire  and  spin 
One  can  bake  a  cake  for  the  king. 
Come  choose  you  east,  come  choose  you 

west 
Come  choose  you  the  one  that  you  love 

the  best. 


There  was  a  little  man, 
And  he  liad  a  little  gun, 
And  his  bullets  were  made  of  lead,  lead, 
lead  ; 
He  wliot  Johnny  King 
'i'liroMgli  tlie  middki  of  his  wig, 
And  kuoiked  it  right  off  his  head,  head, 
head. 


Old   Mother   Hubbard 
Went  to  the  cupboard. 

To  get  her  poor  dog  a  bone  : 
But  when  she  came  there 
The  cupboard  was  bare, 

And  so  the  poor  dog  had  none. 

She  went  to  the  baker's 
To  buy  him  some  bread. 

But  Avhen  she  came  back 
The  poor  dog  was  dead. 

She  went  to  the  joiner's 
To  buy  him  a  coffin, 

When  she  came  back 
The  dog  was  laughing. 

She  took  a  clean  dish 
To  get  him  some  tripe, 

But  when  she  came  back 
He  was  smoking  his  pipe. 


She  went  to  the  fishmonger's 

To  buy  him  some  fisli, 
And  when  slie  came  back 

He  was  licking  the  dish. 

She  went  to  the  ale-house 
To  get  liim  some  beer, 

But  when  she  came  back 
The  dog  sat  in  a  chair. 

She  went  to  the  tavern 
For  white  wine  and  red, 

But  when  she  came  back 
The  dog  stood  on  his  iieod. 

She  went  to  the  hatter's 

To  buy  him  a  hat, 
And  when  she  came  back 

He  was  feeding  the  cat. 

She  went  to  the  barber's 

To  buy  him  a  wig. 
But  when  she  came  l)ack 

He  was  dancing  a  jig. 

She  went  to  the  fruiterer's 
To  buy  him  some  fruit, 

But  when  she  came  l)aok 
He  was  playing  the  flute. 

She  went  to  the  tailor's 

To  buy  him  a  coat. 
But  when  she  came  back 

He  was  riding  a  goat. 

She  went  to  the  cobbler's 
To  buy  him  some  shoes. 

But  when  she  came  back 
He  was  reading  the  news. 

Slie  went  to  the  sempstress 
To  buy  him  some  linen. 

But  Avhen  she  came  hack 
The  dog  was  spinning. 

She  went  to  the  hosier's 
To  buy  him  some  hose, 

But  when  she  came  back 

Ho  was  dress'd  in  his  clothes. 

The  dame  made  a  curtsey, 
The  dog  made  a  bow. 

The  dame  said,  "  your  servant,' 
The  dog  said,   "  bow-wow." 


100 


Poems  for  Children. 


There  was  a  little  man, 
And  he  woo'd  a  L'ttle  maid, 
And  he  said,   "  Little  maid,  -will  you 
■wed,  wed,  wed  ? 
I  have  little  more  to  say, 
Then  will  you,  yea  or  nay, 
For  least  said  is  soonest  mended,  ded, 
ded,   ded." 

The  little  maid  rephed, 
Some  say  a  little  sighed, 
"  But  what  shall  we  have  for  to  eat, 
eat,  eat  ? 
Will  the  love  that  you're  so  rich  in. 
Make  a  fire  in  the  kitchen  ? 
Or  the  little  god  of  Love  turn  the  spit, 
spit,  spit  ?  " 


He  began  to  bark,  so  she   began  to 

cry, 
"  Oh  !    deary,  deary  me,  this  is  none 

of  I ; " 


"Old  woman,  old  woman,  shall  we  go 

shearing  ?  " 
'■  Speak  a  little  louder,  sir,  I  am  very 

thick  of  hearing." 
"  Old  woman,  old  woman,  shall  T  love 

you  dearly  ?  " 
"Thank  you,  kind  sir,  I  hear  you  very 

clearly." 


There   was   an  old   woman,   as   I've 

heard  tell, 
She  went  to  the  market,  her  eggs  to 

sell ; 
She  went  to  the  market  all  on  a  market 

day, 
And    she    fell    asleep    on    the    King's 

highway. 

There  came  by  a  pedlar,  whose  name 

wa''  Stout, 
He  cut  her  petticoats  all  round  about ; 
He  cut  her  petticoats  up  to  the  knees. 
Which  made  the  old  ^^oman  to  shiver 

and  freeze. 

When  the  little  woman  first  did  wake. 
She  began  to  shiver  and  she  began  to 

shake. 
She  began  to  wonder  and  she  began 

to  cry, 
"  Oh  !    deary,  deary  me,  this  is  none 

of  I! 

"  But  if  it  be  I,  as  I  do  hope  it  be, 
I've   a  little   dog   at  home   and   he'll 

know  me ; 
[f  it  be  I,  he'll  wag  his  little  tail. 
And  if  it  be  not  I,  he'll  loudly  bark 

and   wail." 

Home   went   the   little   woman   all   in 

the   dark, 
Up  got  the  little  dog,  and  he  began 

to  bark ; 


Old  Mother  Goose,  when 
She  wanted  to  wander. 

Would  ride  through  the  air 
On  a  very  fine  gander. 

Mother  Goose  had  a  house, 
'Twas  built  in  a  wood 

Wlierc  an  owl  at  the  door 
For  sentinel  stood. 

This  is  her  son  Jack, 

A  plain  looking  lad. 
He  is  not  very  good. 

Nor  yet  very  bad. 

She  sent  him  to  market, 
A  live  goose  he  bought : 

"  Here,  mother,""  says  he, 
"It  will  not  go  for  nought." 

Jack's  goose  and  her  gander 

(<rew  very  fond  ; 
They'd  both  eat  together, 

Or  swim  in  the  pond. 

Jack  found  one  morning, 
As  I  have  been  told. 

His  goose  had  laid  him 
An  egg  of  pure  gold. 

Jack  rode  to  his  mother. 

The  news  for  to  tell  ; 
She  call'd  him  a  good  boy, 

And  said  it  was  well. 


Nursery   Rhymes. 


101 


Jack  sold  his  gold  egg 

To  a  rogue  of  a  Jew, 
Who  cheated  him  out  of 

The  half  of  his  due. 

Then  Jack  went  a-courting 

A  lady  so  gay, 
As  fair  as  the  lily, 

Aa  sweet  as  the  May. 

The  Jew  and  the  Squire 
Came  beliind  his  back, 

And  began  to  belabour 
'.rhe  sides  of  poor  Jack. 

Then  Old  Mother  Goose 
That  instant  came  in. 

And  turn'd  her  son  Jack 
Lito  fani'd  Harlequin. 

She  then  with  her  wand 
Touch'd  the  lady  so  fino. 

And  turn'd  her  at  once 
Into  sweet  Columbine. 

The  gold  egg  into  the  sea 

Was  thrown  then  ; 
When  Jack  jump'd  in. 

And  got  the  egg  back  again. 

The  Jew  got  the  goose, 

Which  he  vow'd  he  would  kil 
Resolving  at  once 

His  pockets  to  fill. 

Jack's  mother  came  in, 
And  caught  the  goose  soon, 

And  momiting  its  back, 
Flew  up  to  the  moon. 


What  are  little  boys  made  of,  made  of, 

What  are  little  boys  made  of  ? 

Snaps    and    snails,    and     puppy-doga' 

tails  ; 
And  that's  what  little  boys  are  made 

of,  made  of. 

What  are  little  girls  made  of,  made  of, 
What  are  little  girls  made  of  ? 
Snwar  and  spice,  and  all  that's  nice; 
And  that's  what  little  girla  are  made 
of,  made  of. 


See,  saw,  Margery  Daw, 

Baby  shall  have  a  new  master. 
She  can  earn  but  a  penny  a  day. 

Because  she  can't  work  any  faster. 

See,  saw,  Margery  Daw, 

Sold  her  bed  to  lie  upon  straw. 
Was  not  she  a  naughty  puss, 

To  sell  her  bed  to  lie  on  a  truss  ? 


Ride  a  cock-horse  to  Banbury  Cross, 
To  see  an  old  lady  upon  a  white  horse. 
Kings  on  her  fingers,  and  bells  on  her 

toes, 
And    so    she    makes    music    wherever 

she  goes. 


fVHERE   are    you    going,    my    pretty 

maid  ? 
[  am  going  a  milking,  sir,  she  said. 
Hay  I  go  with  you,  my  pretty  maid  ? 
ifou're  kindly  welcome,  sir,  she  said. 
iVh^t  is  your  father,  my  pretty  maid  ? 
VLy  father's  a  farmer,  sir,  she  said. 
Say,   %vill   you   marry  me,   my  pretty 

maid  ? 
iTes,  if  you  please,  kind  sir,  she  said. 
iVill  you  be  constant,  my  pretty  maid  ? 
rhat    I    can't   promise    you,    sir,    she 

said, 
riien  I  won't  marry  you,  my  pretty 

maid  ! 
iJobody  asked  you,  sir  |  she  said. 


Polly,  put  the  kettle  on, 
Polly,  put  the  kettle  on, 
Polly,  put  the  kettle  on. 
And  let's  drink  tea. 

Sukey,  take  it  off  again, 

Sukey,  take  it  oil  again, 

Sukey,  take  it  ofif  again. 

They're  all  gone  away. 


Elsie  Marley  is  grown  so  fine, 
She  won't  get  up  to  serve  the  swine, 
But  lies  in  bed  till  eight  or  nine, 
And  surely  she  does  take  her  time. 


102 


Poems  for  Children. 


And  do  you  ken  Elsie  Marley,  honey  ? 
The  wife  who  sells  the  barley,  honey ; 
She  won't  get  up  to  serve  the  swine, 
And  do  you  ken  Elsie  Marley,  honey  ? 


Little  Miss  Muffit, 

Sat  on  a  tuffit, 
Eating  of  curds  and  whey ; 

There  name  a  great  spider 

That  sat  down  beside  her, 
And  frightened  Miss  Muffit  away. 


Pemmy  was  a  pretty  girl, 
But  Fanny  was  a  better  ; 

Pemmj'^  look'd  like  any  churl. 
When  little  Fanny  let  her. 

Pemmy  had  a  pretty  nose, 
But  Fanny  had  a  better  ; 

Pemmy  oft  would  come  to  blows, 
But  Fanny  would  uot  let  her. 

Pemmy  had  a  pretty  doll. 
But  Farmy  had  a  better ; 

Pemmy  chatter'd  like  a  poll, 
When  little  Fanny  let  her. 

Pemmy  had  a  pretty  song, 
But  Fanny  had  a  better  ; 

Pemmy  would  sing  all  day  long, 
But  Fanny  would  not  let  her. 

Pemmy  loved  a  pretty  lad. 
And  Fanny  loved  a  better ; 

And  Pemmy  wanted  for  to  wed. 
But  Fanny  would  not  let  her. 


There  was  a  little  maid,  and  she  was 

afraid 
That  her  sweetheart  would  come  unto 

her ; 
So  she  went  to  bed,  and  cover'd  up 

her  head. 
And  fasten'd  the  door  with  a  skewer. 


Cross  patch, 

Draw  the  latch, 
Sit  by  the  fire  and  spin  ; 

Take   a   cup, 

And   drink   it    up, 
And  call  your  neighbours  in. 


Little  Bo-peep  has  lost  her  sheep, 
And  can't  tell  where  to  find  them  ; 

Leave  them  alone,   and   they'll   come 
home. 
And  bring  their  tails  behind  them. 

Little  Bo-peep  fell  fast  asleep, 

And  dreamt  she  heard  them  bleating  ; 

And  when  she  awoke,  she  found  it  a 
joke. 
For  they  still  were  all  fleeting. 

Then  up  she  took  her  little  crook, 

IJetermin'd  for  to  find  them  ; 
She  found  them  indeed,  but  it  made 
her  heart  bleed. 
For  they'd  left  all  their  tails  behind 
'em. 


Pretty  maid, 

Pretty  maid. 
Where  have  you  been  T 

Gathering  a  posie 
To  give  to  the  queen. 

Pretty   maid, 

Pretty  maid. 
What  gave  she  you  7 

Siie  gave  me  a  diamond 
As  big  as  my  shoe. 


Oh  !  dear  1  what  can  the  matter  be  ? 
Dear  !  dear  !  what  can  the  matter  be  ? 
Oh  !  dear  !  what  can  the  matter  be  ? 
Johnny's  so  long  at  the  fair. 

He   promis'd   he'd   buy   me   a  fairing 

should  please  me. 
And  then  for  a  kiss,    oh  I    he  vow'd 

he  would  teaze  me  ; 
He  promis'd  he'd  bring  me  a  bunch  of 

blue  ribbons 
To  tie  up  my  bonny  brown  hair. 


Nursery   Rhymes. 


103 


Oh  I  dear  !  what  can  the  matter  bi>  ? 
Dear  !  dear  !  what  can  the  matter  be  ? 
Oh  !  dear  !  what  can  the  matter  be  '! 
Johnny's  80  long  at  the  fair. 

He  promis'd  he'd  bring  me  a  basket 

of  posies, 
A  garland  of  lilies,  a  garland  of  roses, 
A  little  straw  hat,  to  set  ofiE  the  blue 

ribbons 
That  tie  up  my  bonny  brown  hair. 


Bessy  Bell  and  Mary  Gray, 
Tliey  were  two  bonny  lasses  : 

They  built  their  house  upon  the  lea. 
And  covered  it  with  rashes 

Bessy  kept  the  garden  gate. 
And  Mary  kept  the  pantry ; 

Bessy  always  had  to  wait, 
While  Mary  lived  in  plenty. 


Mary,  Mary,  quite  contrary. 
How  does  your  garden  grow  ? 

With  cockle-shells  and  silver  bells 
And  columbines  all  of  a  row. 


Little  Tom  Tucker 
Sings  for  his  supper ; 
What  shall  he  eat  ? 
White  bread  and  butter. 
How  shall  he  cut  it 
Without  e'er  a  knife  ? 
How  will  he  be  married 
Without  e'er  a  wife  ? 


Betty  Pringle  had  a  little  pig. 
Not  very  little  and  not  very  big. 
Wlien  he  was  alive,  he  lived  in  clover, 
But  now  he's  dead,  and  that's  all  over. 
So  Billy  Pringle  he  lay  down  and  cried. 
And  Betty  Pringle  she    lay  down  and 

died  ; 
So  there  was  an  end  of  one,  two  and 

three  : 
Billy  Pringle  he, 
Betty  Pringle  she. 
And  the  piggy-wiggy. 


Mother,  may  I  go  and  bathe  T 
Yes,  my  darling  daughter. 

Hang  your  clothes  on  yondc-  tree 
But  don't  go  near  the  water. 


Little  boy  blue,  come  blow  up  your 

horn. 
The  sheep's  in  the  meadow,  the  cow's 

in  the  corn ; 
Where's  the  little  boy  that  looks  after 

the  sheep  ? 
He's  under  the  hay-cock  fast  asleep. 
Will  j'ou  wake  him  ?     No,  not  I  ; 
For  if  I  do,  he'll  be  sure  to  cry. 


Who  comes  hero  T 

A  grenadier. 
What  do  you  want  T 

A  pot  of  beer 
Where  is  your  money  t 

I   have  none. 
Then  grenadier 

Get  you  gone. 


Little   Polly   Flinders, 

Sat  among  the  cinders. 
Warming  her  pretty  little  toes  ; 

Her  mother  came  and  caught  her. 

And  whipped  her  little  daughter 
For  spoiling  her  nice  new  clothes. 


Tweedle-dum  and  tweedle-dee 

Resolved  to  have  a  battle. 
For  tweedle-dum  said  tweedle-dee 

Had  spoiled  his  nice  new  rattle. 
Just  then  flew  by  a  monstrous  crow. 

As  big  as  a  tar  barrel, 
Wiiich  frightened  both  the  heroes  so, 

Tliey  quite  forgot  their  quarrel. 


104 


Poems  for  Children. 


Tom,  Tom,  the  piper's  son. 

Stole  a  pig  and  away  he  run  ! 

The  pig  was  eat,  and  Tom  was  beat. 

And  Tom  went  roaring  down  the  street. 


Tom  he  was  the  piper's  son. 
He  learn'd  to  play  when  he  was  young. 
But  the  only  tune  that  he  could  play 
Was,  "  Over  the  hilLs  and  far  away." 

Now  Tom   with  his  pipe  made  such 

a  noise, 
That  he  pleased   both   the   girls   and 

the   boys. 
And  they  stopp'd  to  hear  him  play, 
"  Over  the  hills  and  far  away." 

Tom  with  his  pipe  did  play  with  such 

skiU, 
That  those  who  heard  him  could  never 

keep  still ; 
Whenever  they  heard  they  began  for 

to  dance. 
Even  pigs   on  their   hind  legs   would 

after  liim  prance. 

As   Dolly   was   milking   her   cow   one 

day, 
Tom    took    out    his    pipe    and    began 

for  to  play  ; 
So  Dolly  and  the  cow  danced   *'  The 

Cheshire  round," 
Till  the  pail  was  broke  and  the  milk 

ran  on  the  ground. 

He  met  old  Dame  Trot  with  a  basket 

of  eggs. 
He  used  his   pipe   and  she  used  her 

legs  ; 
She  danced  about  till  the  eggs  were 

all  broke, 
She  began  for  to  fret,  but  he  laughed 

at  the  joke. 

He   saw   a   cross    fellow   was   beating 

an  ass. 
Heavy  laden  with  pots,   pans,  dishes 

and  glass  ; 
He  took  out  his  pipe  and  played  them  a 

tune. 
And  the  jackass's  load  was  lightened 

full  soon. 


Three  wise  men  of  Gotham 
Went  to  sea  in  a  bowl : 
And  if  the  bowl  had  been  stronger, 
My  song  would  have  been  longer. 


Barber,  barber,  shave  a  pig, 
How  many  hairs  will  make  a  wig  ? 
"  Four  and  twenty,  that's  enough." 
Give  the  barber  a  pinch  of  snuff. 


The  barber  shaved  the  mason, 

As  I  suppose 

Cut  off  his  nose. 
And  popp'd  it  in  a  bason. 


There  was  a  man  of  Newington, 

And  he  was  wondrous  wise. 
He  jump'd  into  a  quickset  hedge. 

And   scratch'd   out   both    his   eyes : 
But  when  he  saw  his  eyes  were  out. 

With  all  his  might  and  main. 
He  jump'd  into  another  hedge. 

And  scratch'd  'em  in  again. 


There  was  a  man  in  our  toone,  in  our 

toone,  in  our  toone. 
There  was  a  man  in  our  toone,  and 

his  name  was  Billy  Pod. 
And  he  played  upon  an  old  razor,  an 

old  razor,  an  old  razor. 
And  he  played  upon  an  old  razor,  with 

my  fiddle  fiddle  fe  fum  fo. 

And  his  hat  was  made  of  the  good  roast 
beef,  the  good  roast  beef,  the  good 
roast  beef. 

And  his  hat  was  made  of  the  good  roast 
beef,  and  his  name  was  Billy  Pod. 

And  he  played  upon  an  old  razor,  etc. 

And  his  coat  was  made  of  the  good  fat 
tripe,  the  good  fat  tripe,  the  good 
fat  tripe. 

And  his  coat  was  made  of  the  good  fat 
tripe,  and  his  name  was  Billy  Pod. 

And  he  played  upon  an  old  razor,  etc. 

And  his  brceks  were  made  of  the  bawbie 
baps,  the  bawbie  baps,  the  bawbie 
baps, 

And  his  breeks  were  made  of  the  bawbie 
baps,  and  his  name  was  Billy  Pod. 

And  he  played  upon  an  old  razor,  etc. 


Nursery   Rhymes. 


105 


And  there  was  a  man  in  tither  toone, 

in  tither  toone,  tither  toone, 
And  there  was  a  man  in  tither  toone, 

and  his  name  was  Edrin  Drum. 
And  he  played  upon  an  old  ladle,  an 

old  ladle,  an  old  ladle, 
And  he  played  upon  an  old  ladle,  with 

my  fiddle,  fiddle,  fum  fo. 
And  he  ate  up  all  the  good  roast  beef, 

the  good  roast  beef,  etc.  etc. 
And  he  ate  up  all  the  good  fat  tripe, 

the  good  fat  tripe,  etc.  etc. 
And  he  ate  up  all  the  bawbie  baps,  etc., 

and  his  name  was  Edrin  Drum. 


Taffy  was  a  Welshman,  Taffy  was  a 

thief, 
Taffy  came  to  my  house,  and  stole 

a  piece  of  beef ; 
I   went  to   Taffy's  house,   Taffy   was 

not  at  home  ; 
Taffy   came   to   my   house,   and   stole 

a  marrow-bone  ; 
I  went  to  Taffy's  house,  Taffy  was  not 

in  ; 
Taffy  came  to  my  house,  and  stole  a 

silver  pin ; 
I   went  to   Taffy's   house,   Taffy   was 

in  bed ; 
I  took  up  a  poker  and  fiung  it  at  his 

head. 


There  was  a  man  and  he  went  mad. 
And  he  juinp'd  into  a  biscuit  bag; 
The  biscuit  bag  it  was  so  full, 
So  he  jump'd  into  a  roaring  bull ; 
The  roaring  bull  it  was  so  fat, 
So  he  jump'd  into  a  gentleman's  hat; 
The  gentleman's  hat  it  was  so  fine. 
So  he  jump'd  into  a  bottle  of  wine  ; 
The  bottle  of  wine  it  was  so  dear. 
So  he  jump'd  into  a  barrel  of  beer  ; 
The  barrel  of  beer,  it  was  so  thick, 
So  he  jump'd  into  a  walking-stick  ; 
The  walking-stick  it  was  so  narrow. 
So  he  jump'd  into  a  wheel-barrow  ; 
The  wheel-barrow  began  to  crack. 
So  he  jump'd  on  to  a  hay-stack  ; 
The  hay-stack  began  to  blaze. 
So  he  did  nothing  but  cough  and  sneeze  ! 


Oh  where  and  oh  where   is   my  httle 
\\  eo  dog  ? 
C)li  where  and  oh  where  is  l.e  ? 
\A  ith  his  ears  cut  short  and  his  tail  cut 
long, 
Oh  where  and  oh  where  can  he  be  ? 


There  was  a  crooked  man,  and  he  went 

a  crooked  mile. 
He  found  a  crooked  sixpence  against 

a  crooked  stile  : 
He  bought  a  crooked  cat,  which  caught 

a  crooked  mouse. 
And  they  all  Hved  together  in  a  httle 

crooked  house. 


Solomon  Grxjndy, 
Born  on  a  Monday, 
Christened  on  Tuesday, 
Married  on  Wednesday, 
Took  ill  on  Thursday, 
Worse  on  Friday, 
Died  on  Saturday, 
Buried  on  Sunday  • 
This  is  the  end  of 
Solomon  Grundy. 


Simple  Simon  met  a  pieman 

Going  to  the  fair  ; 
Sa5's  Simple  Simon  to  the  pieman, 

"  Let  mo  taste  your  ware." 

Says  the  pieman  to  Simple  Simon, 
"  Show  me  first  your  penny," 

Says  Simple  Simon  to  the  piemaUj 
"  Indeed  I  have  not  any." 

Simple  Simon  went  a-fishing 

For  to  catch  a  whale  ; 
All  the  water  he  had  got 

Was  in  his  mother's  pail. 


Rowley  Powley,  pudding  and  pie. 
Kissed  the  girls  and  made  them  cry ; 
When  the  girls  came  out  to  play, 
Rowley  Powley  ran  away. 


106 


Poems  for  Children. 


KoBiN  Hood,  Robin  Hood, 
Is  in  the  mickle  wood  ! 
Little  John,  Little  John, 
He  to  the  town  is  gone. 

Robin  Hood,  Robin  Hood, 
Is  telling  his  beads. 

All  in  the  green  wood. 
Among  the  green  weeds. 

Little  John,  Little  John, 
If  he  comes  no  more, 

Robin  Hood,   Robin  Hood, 
He  will  fret  full  sore  ! 


This  is  the  house  that  Jack  built. 

This  is  the  malt  that  lay  in  the  house 
that  Jack  biiilt. 

This  is  the  rat  that  ate  the  malt,  &c. 

This  is  the  cat  that  killed  the  rat,  &c. 

This  is  the  dog  that  worried  the  cat,  &c. 

This  is  the  cow  with  the  crumpled  horn 
That  tossed  the  dog,  &c. 

This  is  the  maiden  all  forlorn 
That  milk'd  the  cow  with  the  crumpled 
horn,  &c. 

This  is  the  man  all  tatter'd  and  torn 
That  kiss'd  the  maiden  all  forlorn,  &c. 

This  is  the  priest  all  shaven  and  shorn. 
That  married  the  man  all  tatter'd  and 
torn,  &c. 

This  is  the  cock  that  crowed   in  the 

morn. 
That  waked  the  priest  all  shaven  and 

shorn,  &c. 

This  is  the  farmer  sowing  his  corn. 
That  kept  the  cock  that  crow'd  in  the 

morn. 
That  waked  the  priest  all  shaven  and 

shorn. 
That  married  the  man  all  tatter'd  and 

torn. 
That  kissed  the  maiden  all  forlorn. 
That  milk'd  the  cow  with  the  crumpled 

horn. 


That  tossed  the  dog, 

That  worried  the  catj 

That  kill'd  the  rat. 

That  ate  the  malt. 
That  lay  in  the  house  that  Jack  built. 


Robin  and  Richard  were  two  pretty 

men  ; 
They  lay  in  bed  till  the  clock  struck 

ten  ; 
Then  up  starts   Robin   and   looks   at 

the   sky  ; 
Oh  !   brother  Richard,  the  sun's  very 

high: 
you  go  on  with  bottle  and  bag. 
And  I'll  follow  after  on  jolly  Jack  Nag. 


Girls  and  boys  come  out  to  play. 
The  moon  doth  shine  as  bright  as  day  ; 
Leave   your   supper,    and   leave   your 

sleep. 
And  come  with  your  playfellows  into 

the  street. 
Come    with    a    whoop,    come    with    a 

call. 
Come  with  a  goodwill  or  not  at  all. 
Up  the  ladder  and  down  the  wall, 
A  half-penny  roll  will  serve  us  all. 
You  find  milk,  and  I'll  find  flour. 
And  we'll  have  a  pudding  in  half-an- 

hour. 


y 


Handy    Spandy,    Jack-a-dandy, 
Loved  plum-cake  and  sugar-candy  ; 
He  bought  some  at  a  grocer's  shop. 
And  out  he  came,  hop,  hop,  hop. 


HuMPTY  Dumpty  sat  on  a  wall, 
Humpty  Dumpty  bad  a  great  fall ; 
All  the  king's  horses   and  all  the  king's 

men 
Cannot    put     Humpty     Dumpty     to-' 

gether  again. 


Little  Jack  Horner  sat  in  the  corner 

Eating  a  Christmas  pie  ; 
He  put  in  his  thumb,  and  he  took  out 

a  plum. 
And     said,      "  What     a     good     boy 

am  I  I  " 


Nursery   Rhymes. 


107 


There  was  a  little  boy  and  a  little  girl 
j^    Lived  in  an  alley  : 
Says  the  little  boy  to  the  little  girl, 
"  Shall  I,  oh  !   shall  I  ?  " 

Says  the  little  girl  to  the  little  boy, 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?  " 
Says  the  little  boy  to  the  Uttle  girl, 

"  I  will  kiss  you." 


t 


Jack  Sprat  could  eat  no  fat, 
His  wife  could  eat  no  lean  ; 

And  so  betwixt  them  both,  you  see. 
They  lick'd  the  platter  clean. 


Over  the  water  and  over  the  sea. 
And  over  the  water  to  Charley, 
Charley  loves  good  ale  and  wine. 
And  Charley  loves  good  brandy. 
And  Charley  loves  a  pretty  girl. 
As  sweet  as  sugar-candy. 

Over  the  water  and  over  the  sea. 
And  over  tiie  water  to  Charley. 
I'll  have  none  of  yoiu*  nasty  beef. 
Nor  I'll  have  none  of  your  barley  ; 
But  I'll  have  some  of  your  very  best 

flour 
To  make  a  white  cake  for  my  Charley. 


But  sit  on  a  cushion,  and  sow  a  fine 

scam. 
And    feed    upon    strawberries,    sugar, 

and  cream! 


I  HAD  a  little  husband 

No  bigger  than  my  thumb  ; 
I  put  him  in  a  pint  pot. 

And  there  I  bid  him  drum. 

I  bought  him  a  little  horse. 
That   galloped    up    and    down 

I  bridled  him  and  saddled  liiiu, 
And  sent  him  out  of  town. 

[  gave  him  some  garters, 
fo  garter  up  his  hose. 

And   a  little   handkerchief. 
To  wipe  his  pretty  nose. 


Jack  and  Jill  went  up  the  hill,        V<^ 
To  fetch  a  pail  of  water  ; 

Jack  fell  down  and   broke  his  crown 
And  Jill  came  tumbling  after. 

Up  Jack  got  and  home  did  trot 
As  fast  as  he  could  caper. 

Dame  Jill  had  the  job,  to  plaistcr  his 
knob. 
With   vinegar   and   brown   paper. 


On  Saturday  night 
Shall  be  all  my  care. 

To  powder  my  locks 
And   curl   my  hair. 

On  Sunday  morning 
Jly  love  will  come  in. 

When  he  will  marry  me 
With  a  gold  ring. 


Curly  locks,  curly  locks  I    wilt  thou 

be  mine  ? 
Thou  shalt  not  wash  dishes,  nor  yet 

feed  the  swine ; 


Gay  go  up,  and  gay  go  down 
To  ring  the  bells  of  London  town. 

Bulls'  eyes  and  targets. 

Say  the  bella  of  St.  Marg'ret's. 

Brickbats  and  tiles. 
Say  the  bells  of  St.  Giles. 

Halfpence  and  farthings. 
Say  the  bella  of  St.  Martin's. 

Oranges  and  lemons, 

Say  the  bells  of  St.  Clement's. 

Pancakes  and  fritters, 

Say  the  bells  of  St    Peter's. 


108 


Poems  for  Children. 


Two  sticks  and  an  apple. 
Say  the  bells  of  Whitechapcl. 

Old  Father  Baldpate, 

Say  the  slow  beUs  at  Aklgate. 

You  owe  me  ten  shillings, 
Say  the  bells  of  St.  Helen's. 

Pokers  and  tongs, 

Say  the  bells  at  St.  John's. 

Kettles  and  pans. 

Say  the  bells  at  St.  Ann's. 

When  will  you  pay  me  ? 
Say  the  bells  at  Old  Bailey. 

When  I  grow  rich. 

Say  the  bells  at  Shoreditch. 

Pray  when  will  that  be  ? 
Say  the  bells  at  Stepney. 

I'm  sure  I  don't  know, 
Says  the  great  bell  at  Bow. 

Here  comes  a  candle  to  light  you  to  bed. 
And   here   comes   a  chopper   to   chop 
off  your  head. 


LoNDOK  bridge  is  broken  down. 
Dance  o'er  my  lady  lee ; 

London  bridge  is  broken  down, 
With  a  gay  lady. 

How  shall  we  build  it  up  again  ? 

Dance  o'er  my  lady  lee  ; 
How  shall  we  build  it  up  again  ? 

With  a  gay  lady. 

Silver  and  gold  will  be  stole  away. 
Dance  o'er  my  lady  lee ; 


Silver  and  gold  will  be  stole  away. 
With  a  gay  lady. 

Build  it  up  again  with  iron  and  steel. 

Dance  o'er  my  lady  lee  ; 
Bilild  it  up  with  iron  and  steel, 

With  a  gay  lady. 

Iron  and  steel  will  bend  and  bow. 

Dance  o'er  my  lady  lee  ; 
Iron  and  steel  will  bend  and  bow. 

With  a  gay  lady. 

Build  it  up  with  wood  and  clay, 

Dance  o'er  my  lady  lee  ; 
Build  it  up  with  wood  and  clay. 

With  a  gay  lady. 

Wood  and  clay  will  wash  away. 

Dance  o'er  my  lady  lee  ; 
Wood  and  clay  will  wash  away, 

With  a  gay  lady. 

Build  it  up  with  stone  so  strong. 

Dance  o'er  my  lady  lee  ; 
Huzza  !    'twill  last  for  ages  long. 

With  a  gay  lady. 


Come,  let's  to  bed, 

Says  Sleepy-head, 
Tarry  a  while,  says  Slow, 

Put  on  the  pan,  says  Greedy  Nan, 
Let's  sup  before  we  go. 


Matthew,  Mark,  Luke  and  John, 
Guard  the  bed  that  I  lay  on  ! 
Four  corners  to  my  bed, 
Four  angels  round  my  head — 
One  to  watch,   one  to  pray. 
And  two  to  bear  my  soul  away. 


FAIRYLAND. 


THE  FAIRIES. 

Up  the  airy  inouutain, 

Down  the  rushy  glen. 
We  daren't  go  a-huuting, 

For  fear  of  little  men  ; 
Wee  folk,  good  folk, 

Trooping  all  together ; 
Green  jacket,  red  cap. 

And  white  owl's  feather  ! 

Down  along  the  rocky  shore 

Some  make  their  home, 
They  live  on  crispy  pancakes 

Of  yellow  tide-foam  ; 
Some  in  the  reeds 

Of  the   black  mountain-lake, 
With  frogs  for  their  watch-dogs. 

All  night  awake. 

High  on  the  hill-top 

The  old  King  sits  ; 
He  is  now  so  old  and  gray. 

He's  nigh  lost  his  wits. 
With  a  bridge  of  white  mist 

Columbkill  he  crosses, 
On  his  stately  journeys 

From  Slieveleague  to  Rosses  j 
Or  going  up  with  (uusic 

On  cold  starry  nights. 
To  sup  with  the  Queen 

Of  the  gay  Northern  Lights. 

They  stole  little  Bridget 

For  seven  years  long  ; 
When  she  came  down  again, 

Her  friends  were  all  gone. 
They  took  her  lightly  back. 

Between  the  night  and  morrow. 
They  thought  that  she  was  fast  asleep. 

But  she  was  dead  with  sorrow. 
They  have  kept  her  ever  since 

Deep  within  the  lake. 
On  a  bed  of  flag-leaves, 

Watching  till  she  wake. 


By  the  craggy  hill-side. 

Through  the  mosses  bare. 
They  have  planted  thorn-trees 

For  pleasure  here  and  there. 
Is  any  man  so  daring 

As  dig  them  up  in  spite. 
He  shall  fmd  their  sharpest  thorns 

In  his  bed  at  night. 

Up  the  airy  mountain, 

i^own  the  rushy  glen. 
We  daren't  go  a-hunting. 

For  fear  of  little  men  ; 
Wee  folk,  good  folk. 

Trooping  aU  together ; 
Green  jacket,  red  cap. 

And  white  owl's  feather  I 

WiUiam  AUinFJiam, 


THE  LIGHT-HEARTED  FAIRY. 

Oh,  who  Is  so  merry,  so  merry,  heigh  ho ! 

As  the  light  hearted  fairy  ?   heigh  ho, 
Heigh  ho  ! 
He  dances  and  sings 
To   the   sound   of   his   wings 

With  a  hey  and  a  heigh  and  a  ho  ! 

Oh,  who  is  so  merry,  so  airy,  heigh  ho  ! 
As  the  light  headed  fairy  ?    heigh  he. 
Heigh  ho  ! 

His  nectar  lie  sips 

From  the  primroses'  lips 
With  a  hey  and  a  heigh  and  a  ho  I 

Oh,  who  is  so  merry,  so  merry,  heigh  ho  1 
As  the  light  footed  fairy  ?    heigh  ho  1 
Heigh  ho  ! 
The  night  is  his  noon 
And  his  sun  is  the  moon. 
With  a  hey  and  a  heigh  and  a  ho  I 


110 


Poems   for  Children. 


FAIBYLAND. 

Dim  vales,  and  shadowy  floods, 

And  cloudy-looking  woods  ; 

Whose  forms  we  can't  discover 

For  the  tears  that  drip  all  over  ; 

Huge  moons  there  wax  and  wane — 

Again,  again,  again — 

Every  moment  of  the  night, 

For  ever  changing  places  ; 

And  they  put  out  the  star-light 

With  the  breath  from  their  pale  faces. 

About  twelve  by  the  moon-dial, 

One  more  filmy  than  the  rest 

(A  kind  which,  upon  trial. 

They  have  found  to  be  the  best) 

Comes  down — still  down — and  down 

With  its  centre  on  the  crown 

Of  a  mountain's  eminence 

In  easy  drapery  falls 

Over  hamlets,  over  halls. 

Wherever  they  may  be — 

O'er  the  strange  woods,  o'er  the  sea, 

Over  spirits   on   the   wing. 

Over  every  drowsy  thing — 

And  buries  them  up  quite 

In  a  labyrinth  of  light ; 

And  then,  how  deep  ! — O  deep. 

Is  the  passion  of  their  sleep  ! 

In   the  morning  they  arise. 

And  their  moony  covering 

Is  roaring  in  the  skies. 

With  the  tempest  as  they  toss. 

Like — almost    anything. 

Or  a  yellow  albatross. 

They  use  that  moon  no  more 

For  the  same  end  as  before— 

Videlicet  a  tent — 

Which  I  think  extravagant : 

Its  atomies  however. 

Into  a  shower  dissever 

Of  which  those  butterflies 

Of  earth  who  seek  the  skies, 

And  so  come  down  again 

(Never  contented  things  !  ), 

Have  brought  a  specimen 

Upon  their  quivering  wings. 

Edgar  Allan  Foe. 

OVEB   Hllili,   OVER  DALE. 

Over  hill,  over  dale. 

Through  bush,  through  briar. 
Over  park,  over  pale, 

Through  flood,  through  fire. 
I  do  wander  everywhere. 
Swifter  than  the  moon's  sphere ; 


And  I  serve  the  Fairy  Queen, 
To  dew  her  orbs  upon  the  green. 
The  cowslips  tall  her  pensioners  be  ; 
In  their  gold  coats  spots  you  see — 
These  be  rubies,  fairy  favours. 
In  those  freckles  live  their  savours. 
I  must  go  seek  some  dew-drops  here. 
And  hang  a  pearl  in  every  cowslip's  ear. 

William  Shakespeare. 


THROUGH   THE   HOUSE    GIVE 
GL.IMMERING  LIGHT. 

Through  the  house  give  glimmering 
light. 

By  the  dead  and  drowsy  fire  ; 
Every  elf  and  fairy  sprite. 

Hop  as  light  as  bird  from  brier  ; 
And  this  ditty  after  me 
Sing,  and  dance  it  trippingly. 

First  rehearse  your  song  by  note, 
In  each  word  a  warbling  note  ; 
Hand  in  hand  with  fairy  grace 
Will  we  sing  and  bless  this  place. 

WiUiam  Shakespeare. 

THE  LIFE  OF  A  FAIRY. 

Come   follow,   follow  me. 

You  fairy  elves  that  be. 

Which  circle  on  the  green  ; 

Come,  follow  Mab  your  queen  : 
Hand  in  hand,  let's  dance  around. 
For  this  place  is  fairy  ground. 

Upon  a  mushroom's  head 

Our  tablecloth  we  spread ; 

A  grain  of  rye  or  wheat. 

Is  manchet,  which  we  eat ; 
Pearly  drops  of  dew  we  drink 
In  acorn-cups  fill'd  to  the  brink. 

The  grasshopper,  gnat,  and  fly 

Serve  for  our  minstrelsy  ; 

Grace  said,  we  dance  awhile. 

And  so  the  time  beguile ; 
And  if  the  moon  doth  hide  her  head. 
The  glow-worm  lights  us  home  to  bed. 

On  the  tops  of  dewy  grass 
So  nimbly  do  we  pass. 
The  young  and  tender  stalk 
Ne'er  bends   when   we   do   w  alk  ; 
Yet  in  the  morning  may  be  seen 
Where  we  the  night  before  have  been 


I 


Fairyland. 


Ill 


FAIBY  STORIES. 


Sometimes  with  secure  delight 
Tlie  upland  Hamlets  will  invite, 
When  the  merry  Bells  ring  round, 
And  the  jocund  rebecks  sound 
To  many  a  youth  and  many  a  maid, 
Dancing  in  the  checkered  shade  ; 
And  young  and  old  come  forth  to  play 
On  a  Sunshine  Holy-day, 
Till  the  livelong  daylight  fail ; 
Then  to  the  Spicy  Nut-brown  Ale, 
With  stories  told  of  many  a  feat, 
How  Fairy  Mab  the  junkets  eat, 
She  was  pinched,  and  pulled,  she  said. 
And  he  by  Friars  Lanthorn  led. 
Tells  how  the  drudging  Goblin  sweat, 
To  earn  his  Cream-bowl  duly  set, 
When  in  one  night,  ere  glimpse  of  morn. 
His  shadowy  Flail  hath   threshed   tlie 

Corn, 
That  ten  day-labourers  could  not  end  ; 
Then  lies  him  down  the  Lubbar  Fiend, 
And  stretched   out  all   the  chimney's 

length, 
Basks  at  the  fire  his  hairy  strength. 
And  crop-full  out  of  doors  he  flings. 
Ere  the  first  Cock  his  matin  sings. 
Thus  done  the  Tales,  to  bed  they  creep 
By     whispering     winds     soon     lulled 

asleep. 

John  Milton. 


FAIRY  SONG. 

Shed  no  tear  !   O,  shed  no  tear  ! 
I'hc   flower  will   bloom   another  j'car. 
Weep  no  more  !    0,  weep  no  more  ! 
Young  buds  sleep  in  the  root's  white 

core. 
Dry  your  eyes  !    Oh  !    dry  your  eyes  ! 
For  I  was  taught  in  Paradise 
To  ease  my  breast  of  melodies — 
Shed  no  tear. 

Overhead  !   look  overhead  ! 
'Mong  the  blossoms  white  and  red — 
Look  up,  look  up.    I  flutter  now 
On  this  flush  pomegranate  bough. 
See  me  !    'tis  this  silvery  bell 
Ever  cures  the  good  man's  ill. 
Shed  no  tear  !    O,  shed  no  tear  ! 
The  flowers  will   bloom  another  year. 
Adieu,  adieu — I  fly,  adieu, 
I  vauish  in  the  heaven's  blue — 
Adieu,  adieu  ! 


BY  THE   MOON   WE   SPORT 
AND  PliAY. 

By  the  moon  we  sport  and  play. 
With  the  night  begins  our  day  ; 
As  we  dance  the  dew  doth  fall ; 
Trip  it,  little  urchins  all ! 
Two  by  two,  and  three  by  three, 
And  about  go  we,  and  about  go  we  ! 

John  Lylij. 


TKE    FOTTNTAIN     OF    THE 
FAIRIES. 

There  is  a  fountain  in  the  forest  called 
The  Fountain  of  the  Fairies  :  when  a 

child 
What  a  delight  of  wonder  I  have  heard 
Tales   of   the   elfin    tribe  who   on   its 

banks 
Hold   midnight   revelry.      An   ancient 

oak, 
Tlie    goodliest    of    the    forest,    grows 

beside ; 
Alone  it  stands,   upon  a  green  grass 

plat, 
By    the    woods    bounded    like    some 

little  isle. 
It     ever     hath     been     deem'd     their 

favourite  tree. 
They   love   to  lie   and   rock   upon  its 

leaves 
And    bask    in    moonshine.     Here    the 

woodman  leads 
His  boy,  and  showing  him  the  green 

sward  mark'd 
With   darker   circlets,   says   the   mid- 
night dance 
Hath  traced  the  rings,  and  bids  him 

spare   the   tree. 
Fancy  had  cast  a  spell  upon  the  place 
Which  made  it  holy  ;   and  tiie  villagers 
Would    say    that    never    evil    things 

approached 
Unpunished    there.     The   strange   and 

fearful  pleasure 
Which  filled  me  by  that  solitary  spring. 
Ceased    not  in  riper  years  ;  and  now 

it  wakes 
Deeper  delight,  and   niort-  mysterious 

awe. 


Jq^n  Keaia. 


Robert  Southey 


112 


Poems  for  Children. 


THE    MOUNTAIN   SPRITE. 

In  yonder  valley  there  dwelt,  alone, 
A  youth  whose  momenta  had  calmly 

flown, 
Till  spells  o'er  him,  and,  day  and  night. 
He  was   hamited   and   watched   by   a 

Mountain  Sprite! 

As  once  by  moonlight  he  wandered  o'er 
The  golden  sands  of  that  island  shore, 
A  foot-print  sparkled  before  his  sight — 
'Twas  the  fairy  foot  of  the  Mountain 
Sprite  I 

Beside  a  fountain,  one  sunny  day, 
As  bending  over  the  stream  he  lay, 
There  peep'd  down  o'er  him  two  eyes 

of  hght. 
And  he  saw  in  that  mirror  the  Mountain 

Sprite. 


A  CHABM. 

In  the  morning  when  you  rise 
Wash  your  hands  and  cleanse  your  eyes ; 
Next,  be  sure  ye  t^^e  a  care 
To  disperse  the  water  far  ; 
For  as  far  as  it  doth  light. 
So  far  keeps  the  evil  sprite. 

Robert  Herrick. 


ANOTHER  CHARM. 

If  ye  fear  to  be  benighted, 
When  ye  are  by  chance  benighted. 
In  your  pocket  for  a  trust. 
Carry  nothing  but  a  crust ; 
For  that  holy  piece  of  bread 
Charms  the  danger  and  the  dread. 

Robert  Herrick. 


He  turned,  but  lo,  like  a  startled  bird. 
That  spirit  fled  !    and  the  youth  but 

heard 
Sweet  music,  such  as  marks  the  flight 
Of  some  bird  of  song,  from  the  Mountain 

Sprite. 

One    night,    still    haunted    by    that 

bright  look. 
The  boy,  bewildered,  his  pencil  took, 
And,  guided  only  by  memory's  light. 
Drew  the  once  seen  form  of  the  Moun- 
tain Sprite. 

"  Oh  thou,  who  lovest  the  shadow," 

cried 
A  voice,  low  whispering  by  his  side, 
"  Now  turn  and  see," — here  the  youth's 

delight 
Seal'd  the  rosy  lips  of  the  Mountain 

Sprite. 

"  Of  all  the  spirits  of  land  and  sea," 
Then  rapt  he  murmured,  "  there's  none 

like  thee. 
And   oft,   oh   oft,  may   thy   foot   thus 

light 
In  this  lonely  bower,  sweet  Mountain 

Sprite  I  " 

Thomas  Moon 


QUEEN   MAB. 

This  is  Mab,  the  mistress  Fairy, 
That  doth  nightly  rob  the  dairy. 
And  can  help  or  hurt  the  churning, 
As  she  please  without  discerning. 

She  that  pinches  country  wenches. 
If  they  rub  not  clean  their  benches, 
And  with  sharper  nails  remembers 
When  they  rake  not  up  their  embers  : 
15ut  if  so  they  chance  to  feast  her. 
In  a  shoe  she  di'ops  a  tester. 

Tliis  is  she  that  empties  cradles, 
'i'akes  out  children,  puts  in  ladles  : 
Trains  forth  old  wives  in  their  slumber 
With  a  sieve  the  holes  to  number  ; 
And  then  leads  them  from  her  burrows. 
Home     through     ponds     and     water- 
furrows. 

She  can  start  our  Franklin's  daughters, 
In     their      sleep,     with     shrieks     and 

laughter  ; 
And  on  sweet  St.  Anna's  night 
Feed  them  with  a  promised  sight. 
Some  of  husbands,  some  of  lovers. 
Which  an  empty  dream  discovers. 

Ben  Jonaon 


Fairyland. 


113 


QTTEEN  MAB. 

Oh  then,  I  see,  Queen  Mab  hath  been 

with  you. 
She  is  the  fairies'midwife,  and  she  comes 
In    shape   no    bigger    than    an    agate 

stone 
On  the  fore-finger  of  an  alderman  ; 
Drawn  with  a  team  of  little  atomies 
Athwart  men's  noses  as  they  lie  asleep  : 
Her    wagon    spokes    made    of    long 

spinner's  legs  : 
The  cover,  of  the  wings  of  grasshoppers  ; 
The  traces,  of  the  smallest  spider's  web  ; 
The  collars  of  the  moonshine's  watery 

beams  ; 
Her  whip  of  cricket's  bone,  the  lash, 

of  lihn  ; 
-  Her  wagoner,  a  small  grey-coated  gnat. 
Not  half  so  big  as  a  round  little  worm. 
Pricked  from  the  lazy  finger  of  a  maid  : 
Her  chariot  is  an  empty  hazel  nut. 
Made   by   the   joiner   squirrel,    or   old 

grub, 
Time   out  of  mind   the  fairies'  coach- 
makers. 
And   in   this   state   she   gallops   night 

by  night. 
Through  lovers'  brains,  and  then  they 

dream  of  love  ; 
On    courtier's    knees    that    dream    on 

court'sies   straight ; 
O'er    lawyers'    fingers,    who    straight 

dream  on  fees  ; 
O'er  ladies'  lips,  who  straight  on  kisses 

dream. 

William  Shakespeare. 


aXTEEN  MAB'S  CHARIOT. 

Her  chariot  ready  straight  is  made. 
Each  thing  therein  is  fitting  laid, 
I  That  she  by  nothing  might  be  staj^ed. 
For  naught  must  be  her  letting. 
'  Four  nimble  gnats  the  horses  were 
Their  harnesses  of  gossamer, 
Fly,  Cranion,  her  charioteer. 

Upon  the  coach-box  getting. 

Her  chariot  of  a  snail's  fine  shell. 
Which  for  t}ie  colours  did  excel, 
'I  he  fair  queen  Mab  becoming  well  — 

So  lively  was  the  limning  ; 
The  seat  the  soft  wool  of  the  bee, 
Tlie  cover  (gallantly  to  see) 
Tlje  wing  of  a  pied  butterflee  : 

I  trow,  'twas  simple  trimming. 


The  wheels  composed  of  crickets'  bones, 
And  dantily  made  for  the  nonce. 
For  fear  of  rattling  on  the  stones, 

With  thistle-do\vn  they  shod  it ; 
For  all  her  maidens  much  did  fear, 
If  Oberon  had  chanced  to  hear 
That    Mab    his    queen    should    have 
been  there. 

He  would  not  have  abode  it. 

She  mounts  her  chariot  with  a  trice, 
Nor  would  she  stay  for  no  advice. 
Until  her  maids  that  were  so  nice 

To  wait  on  her  were  fitted, 
But  ran  herself  away  alone  ; 
Which   when   they   heard,    there    was 

not  one 
But  hastened  after  to  be  gone. 

As  she  had  been  diswitted. 

Hop,  and  Mop,  and  Drap  so  clear, 
Pip,  and  Trip,  and  Skip,  that  were 
To  Mab  their  sovereign  dear. 

Her  special  maids  of  honour  ; 
Fib,  and  Tib,  and  Pink,  and  Pin, 
Pick,  and  Quick,  and  Jill,  and  Jin, 
Tit,  and  Nit,  and  Wap,  and  Wim — 

The  train  that  wait  upon  her. 

Upon  a  grasshopper  they  got. 
And  what  with  amble  and  with  trot. 
For  hedge  nor  ditch  they  spared  not. 

But  after  her  they  hie  them. 
A  cobweb  over  them  they  throw, 
To  shield  the  wind  if  it  should  blow  : 
Themselves  they  wisely  could  bestow 

Lest  any  should  espy  them. 

Michael  Drayton. 


THE    BEGGAB,    TO    MAB    THE 
FAIRY    QXTEEN. 

Please  your  grace,  from  out  your  store, 

Give  an  alms  to  one's  that's  poor, 

That  your  mickle  may  have  more. 

Black  I've  grown  for  want  of  nie-u. 

Give  me  then  an  ant  to  eat. 

Or  the  cleft  ear  of  a  mouse 

Over  sour'd  iu  drink  of  souse  , 

Or,  sweet  lady,  reach  to  me 

The  abdomen  of  a  bee  ; 

Or  commend  a  cricket's  hip, 

Or  his  huckson,  to  my  scrip  ; 

Give  for  bread  a  little  bit 

Of  a  piece  that  'gins  to  chit, 

And  my  full  thanks  take  for  it 

8 


114 


Poems   for  Children. 


Flour  of  fuz-balls,  that's  too  good 
For  a  man  in  needy-hood  ; 
But  the  meal  of  mill-dust  can 
Well  content  a  craving  man; 
Any  oats  the  elves  refuse 
Well  A^ill  serve  the  beggar's  use. 
But  if  this  may  seen  too  much 
For  an  alms,  then  give  me  such 
Little  bits  that  nestle  there 
In  the  pris'ners  pannier. 
So  a  blessing  light  upon 
You  and  mighty  Oberon  ; 
That  your  plenty  last  till  when 
I  return  your  alms  again. 

Robert  Herrick. 


YOTJ    SPOTTED    SNAKES. 

FIRST  FAIRY. 

YoxJ     spotted     snakes     with     double 
tongues, 

Thorny  hedge-hogs,  be  not  seen  ; 
Newts  and  blind-worms,  do  no  wrong  : 

Come  not  near  our  fairy  queen  : 

Chorus  : 

Philomel,  with  melody, 
Sing  in  our  sweet  lullaby  ; 
Lulla,    lulla,    lullaby ;     lulla,    luUa, 
lullaby ; 
Never  harm,  nor  spell  nor  charm, 
Come  our  lovely  lady  nigh  ; 
So,  good  night,  with  lullaby. 

Second  Fairy. 

Weaving  spiders,  come  not  here  ; 

Hence  yon  long-legg'd  spinners,  hence 
Beetles  black,  approach  not  near. 

Worm,  nor  snail,  do  no  offence. 

Chorus : 
Philomel,  with  melody,  etc., 

FiBST  Fairy. 

Hence  away  ;    now  all  is  well : 
One,  aloof,  stand  sentinel. 


OBEROIT'S    FEAST. 

A  LITTLE  mushroom-table  spread. 
After  short  prayers  they  set  on  bread, 
A  moon-parch'd  grain  of  purest  wheat 
With  some  small  glitt'ring  grit,  to  eat 
His*  choice  bits  with  ;   then  in  a  trice 
They  make  a  feast  less  great  than  nice. 
But  all  this  -nhile  his  eyes  is  serv'd 
We  must  not  think  his  ear  was  starv'd  ; 
But  that  there  was    in  place  to    stir 
His  spleen,  the  chirping  grasshopper. 
The  merry  cricket,  puling  fly. 
The  piping  gnat  for  minstrelsy. 
And  now,  we  must  imagine  first, 
The  elf  is  present  to  quench  his  thirst, 
A  pure  seed-pearl  of  infant  dew. 
Brought  and  besweetened  in  a  blue, 
And  pregnant  violet ;   which  done, 
His  kitten  eyes  begin  to  run 
Quite  through  the  table,  when  he  spies 
The  horns  of  paper  butterflies. 
Of  which  he  eats  ;   and  tastes  a  little 
Of  that  we  call  the  cuckoo's  spittle  ; 
A  little  fuz-ball  pudding  stands 
By,  yet  not  blessed  by  his  hands. 
That  was  too  coarse  ;    but  then  forth- 
with 
He  ventures  boldly  on  the  pith 
Of  sugared  rush,  and  eats  the  sag 
And  well  bestrutted  bee's  sweet  bag 
Glad'ning  his  palate  with  some  store 
Of  emmet's  eggs  ;  what  would  he  more? 
But  beards  of  mice,  a  newt's  stew'd 

thigh, 
A  bloated  earwig,  and  a  fly  ; 
With  the  red-cap'd  worm,  that's  shut 
Within  the  concave  of  a  nut. 
Brown  as  his  tooth,     A  little  moth, 
Late  fatten'd  in  a  piece  of  cloth  ; 
With    withered    cherries,    mandrakes' 

ears, 
Moles'  eyes ;   to  these  the  slain  stag's 

tears ; 
The  unctuous  dewlaps  of  a  snail. 
The  broke  heart  of  a  nightingale 
O'er  come  in  miisic  ;  with  a  wine 
Ne'er  ravish'd  from  the  flattering  vine, 
Brought  in  a  dainty  daisy,  which 
He  fiUly  quaffs  up  to  bewitch 
His     bJood     to     height ;      this     done, 

commended 
Grace    by    Im    priest ;     the    feast    is 
ended. 

Robert  Herrick. 


WiUiam  Shakespeare. 


•  Oberou's. 


Fairyland. 


115 


THE  PALACE  OF  THE 

FAIBIES. 

This  palace  standeth  in  tho  air, 
By  necromancy  placed  there, 
That  it  no  tempests  needs  to  fear, 

Whicli  way  so'er  it  blow  it. 
And  somewhat  southward   towM    tlie 

noon, 
Whence  lies  a  way  up  to  tiie  moon, 
And  thence  the  fairy  can  as  soon 

Pass  to  the  earth  below  it. 

The  walls  of  spider's  legs  are  made 
Well  mortised  and  finely  laid  ; 
He  was  the  master  of  his  trade, 

It  curiously  that  buildcd  ; 
The  window  of  the  eyes  of  cats 
And  for  the  roof,  instead  of  slates. 
Is  covered  with  the  skin  of  bats. 

With  moonsliine  that  was  gilded. 
Michael  Drayton. 


THE 


FAIRY    BOY. 

ame    when    stars 


A     MOTHER     C{ 

paling. 
Wailing  round  a  lonely  spring  ; 
Thus  she  cried  wliile  tears  were  falling. 
Calling  on  the  Fairy  King : 

"  Why  with  spells  my  child  caressing. 
Courting  him  with  fairy  joy  ; 

Why  destroy  a  mother's  blessing. 
Wherefore  steal  my  baby  boy  ? 

O'er  the  mountain,  through  the  wild 

wood. 
Where  his  childhood  loved  to  play  ; 
Where  the  flowers  are  freshly  springing, 
There  I  wander  day  by  day. 

"  There  I  wander,  growing  fonder 
Of  that  child  that  made  my  joy ; 

On  the  echoes  wildly  calling 
To  restore  my  fairy  boy. 

"  But  in  vain  my  plaintive  calling. 
Tears  are  falling  all  in  vain  ! 

He  now  sports  with  fairy  pleasure, 
He's  the  treasure  of  their  train  ! 

"  Fare  thee  well,  my  child  for  ever, 
In  this  world  I've  lost  my  joy, 

But  in  tiie  7iext  we  ne'er  shall  sever. 
There  I'll  find  my  angel  boy  !  " 

Samuel  Lover, 


THE    FAIRY    TEMPTER. 

A  FAIR  girl  was  sitting  in  the  green- 
wood shade, 
List'ning    to    the    music     the    spring 

birds  made ; 
Wiien  sweeter  by  far  than  the  birds  on 

the  tree, 
A    voice    murmured    near    her,    "  Oh, 
come,  love,  with  me — 
In  earth  or  air, 
A  thing  so  fair 
I  have  not  seen  as  thee  ! 
Then  come,  love,  with  me." 

"  With    a   star    for    thy    home,    in    a 

palace  of  light. 
Thou   wilt  add   a  fresh  grace  to   the 

beauty  of  night ; 
Or,  if  wealth  be  thy  wish,  thine  are 

treasures  untold, 
I    will    show    thee    the    birthplace    of 
jewels  and  gold — 
And  pearly  caves 
Beneath  the  waves. 
All  these,  all  these  are  thine, 
If  thou  wilt  be  mine." 

Thus  whispered  a  fairy  to  tempt  the 

fair  girl. 
But    vain    was    the    promise    of    gold 

and  of  pearl  ; 
For  she  said,  "  Tho'  thy  gifts  to  a  poor 

girl  were  dear. 
My    father,    my    mother,    my    sisters 
are  here : 

Oh  !    what  would  be 

Thy  gifts  to  me 

Of  earth,  and  sea,  and  air 

If  my  heart  were  not  there  ?  " 

Samuel  Lover. 


THE  ARMING   OF 
PIGWIGGEN. 

He  quickly  arms  him  for  the  field— 
A  little  cockle-shell  his  shield, 
Which  he  could  very  bravely  wield. 

Yet  could  it  not  be  pierced  ; 
His  spear  a  bent  both  stiff  and  strong. 
And  well  near  of  two  inches  long ; 
Tlie  pile  was  of  a  horse-fly's  tongue, 

Whose  sharpness  naught  reversed  : 

8* 


116 


Poems  for  Children. 


And  put  him  on  a  coat  of  mail, 

Which  was  of  a  fish's  scale. 

That  when  his  foe  should  him  assail, 

No  point  should  be  prevailing. 
His  rapier  was  a  hornet's  sting. 
It  was  a  very  dangerous  thing ; 
For  if  he  chanced  to  hurt  the  king, 

It  would  be  long  in  healing. 

His  helmet  was  a  beetle's  head. 
Most  horrible  and  full  of  dread. 
That  able  was  to  strike  one  dead. 

Yet  it  did  well  become  him : 
And  for  a  plume  a  horse's  hair, 
Which  being  tossed  iip  by  the  air. 
Had  force  to  strike  his  foe  with  fear, 

And  turn  hia  weapon  from  him. 

Himself  he  on  an  earwig  set. 
Yet  scarce  he  on  his  back  could  get, 
So  oft  and  high  he  did  curvet 
Ere  he  himself  could  settle : 
He  made  him  turn,  and  stop,  and  bound. 
To  gallop  and  to  trot  the  round, 
He  scarce  could  stand  on  any  ground. 
He  was  so  full  of  mettle. 

Michael  Drayton. 


WATER-LILIES. 

A  FAIRY  SONG. 

Come    away,  elves,  while  the  dew    is 

sweet, 
Come  to  the  dingles  where  fairies  meet : 
Know  that  the  lilies  have  spread  their 

bells 
O'er  all  the  pools  in  our  forest   dells  ; 
Stilly  and  lightly  their  vases  rest 
On  the  quivering  sleep  of  the  wator's 

breast. 
Catching  the  sunshine  through  leaves 

that  throw 
To  their  scented  bosoms  an  emerald 

glow  ; 
And   a  star  from   the  depth  of  each 

pearly   cup, 
A  golden  star  unto  heaven  looks  up, 
As  if  seeking  its  kindred  where  bright 

they  lie. 
Set  in  the  blue  of  the  summer  sky. 
— Come  away  !    under  arching  boughs 

we'll  float, 
Making  those  urns  each  a  fairy  boat ; 


We'll   row   them  with  reeds  o'er  the 

fountains    free. 
And  a  tall  flag-leaf  shall  our  streamer  be. 
And  we'll  send  out  wild  music  so  sweet 

and  low. 
It  shall  seem  from  the  bright  flower's 

heart  to  flow. 
As    if    t'were    breeze    with    a    flute's 

low  sigh. 
Or  water  drops  train'd  into  melody. 
— Come   away !     for   the     midsummer 

sun  grows  strong. 
And  the  life  of  the  lily  may  not  be 

long. 

Fdieia  Dorothea  He  mans. 


THE  HAO-. 

The  hag  is  astride. 

This  night  for  a  ride. 
Her  wild  steed  and  she  together  ; 

Through  thick  and  through  thin. 

Now  out,  and  then  in. 
Though  ne'er  so  foul  be  the  weather. 

A  thorn  or  a  burr 

She  takes  for  a  spur  ; 
With  a  last  of  a  bramble  she  rides  now. 

Through  brakes  and  througli  briars. 

O'er  ditches  and  mires. 
She  follows  the  spirit  that  guides  now. 

No  beast  for  his  food 

Dares  now  range  the  wood. 
But  hush'd  in  his  lair  he  lies  lurking  ; 

While  mischief  by  these, 

On  land  and  on  seas. 
At  noon  of  night  are  found  working. 

The  storm  will  arise 

And  trouble  the  skies, 
Tliis  night ;    and,  more  for  the  \A'onder, 

The  ghost  from  the  tomb 

Affrightened  shall  come, 
Called  out  by  the  clap  of  tiie  thunder 

Robert  Herrick. 


THE    FAIRIES    OF    THE 
CALDON-LOW. 

A  MIDSUMMER  LEGEND. 

"  And  where  have  you  been,  my  Mary, 
And  \^'here  have  you  been  from  me  ?  " 

"  I've  been  to  the  top  of  Caldon-Low, 
The  midsummer  night  to  see  !  " 


J 


Fairyland, 


11 


"  And  what  did  you  soc,  my  Mary, 
All  up  on  the  'Caldon-T.ow  ?  " 

"  I  saw  the  j;lad  sunshine  come  down, 
And  I  saw  the  merry  winds  blow." 

"  And  what  did  you  hear,  my  Mary, 
All  up  on  the  Caldon-Hil!  ?  " 

"  I  heard  the  drops  of  the  water  made. 
And  I  heard  the  green  corn  fill." 

"  Oh,  tell  me  all,  my  Mary — 
All — all  that  ever  you  know  ; 

For  you  must  have  seen  t!>e  fairies 
Last  night  on  the  Caldon-Low!" 

"  Then  take  me  on  your  knee,  mother, 
And  listen,  mother,  of  mine  : 

A  hundred  fairies  danced  last  night. 
And  the  harpers  they  were  nine. 

"  And  the  harp-strings  rang  so  merrily 
To  their  dancing  feet  so  small ; 

But,  oh  !    tlie  sound  of  their  talking 
Was  merrier  far  than  all ! 

"  And  what  were  the  words,  my  Mary, 
That  you  did  hear  them  say  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  all,  my  mother. 
But  let  me  have  my  way. 

"  And  some  they  played  with  the  water, 
And  rolled  it  down  the  hill  ; 

'And  this,'  they  said,  'shall  speedily 
txirn 
The  poor  old  miller's  mill. 

"  '  For  there  has  been  no  water 
Ever  since  the  first  of  May ; 

And  a  busy  man  will  the  miller  be 
At  the  dawning  of  the  day  ! 

"  '  Oh  !  the  miller,  how  he  will  laugh, 
When  he  sees  the  mill-dam  rise  I 

The  jolly  old  miller,  how  he  will  laugh. 
Till  the  tears  fill  both  hia  eyes  !  ' 

"  And  some  they  seized  the  little  winds. 
That  sounded  over  the  hill. 

And  each  put  a  horn  into  his  mouth. 
And  blew  both  sharp  and  shrill : 

"  '  And  there,'  said  they,  '  the  merry 
winds  go 

Away  from  every  horn  ; 
And  these  shall  clear  the  mildew  dank 

From  the  blind  old  widow's  corn : 


*' '  Oil,  the  poor  blind  widow — 
Tliougli  she  has  been  blind  so  long. 

She'll  be  merry  enougb  when  the   mil- 
dew's gone, 
And  the  corn  stands  stiff  and  strong  !  ' 

"  And  some  they  brought  the  brown 
linseed 

And  flung  it  down  the  Low  : 
*  And  this,'  said  they,  '  by  the  sunrise 

In  the  weaver's  croft  shall  grow  ! 

"  '  Oh,  the  poor  lame  weaver  ! 

How  will  he  laugh  outright 
When  he  sees  his  dwindling  flax-field 

All  full  of  flowers  by  night  !  ' 

"  And  then  outspoke  a  brownie. 
With  a  long  beard  on  his  chin  : 

'  I  have  spun  up  all  the  tow,'  said  he, 
'  And  I  want  some  more  to  spin. 

"  '  I've  spun  a  piece  of  hempen   cloth 
And  I  want  to  spin  another^ 

A  little  sheet  for  Mary's  bed, 

And  an  apron   for  her  mother  !  ' 

"  And  mth  that  I  could  not  liclp 
but  laugh. 

And  I  laughed  out  loud  and  free ; 
And  then  on  the  top  of  Caldon-Low 

There  was  no  one  left  but  me, 

"  And  all  on  the  top  of  Caldon-Low 
The  mists  were  cold  and  gray. 

And  nothing  I  saw  but  the  mossy  stones 
That  round  about  me  lay. 

"  But,  as  I  came  down  from  the  hrll-top, 

I  heard,  afar  below, 
How  busy  the  jolly  miller  was. 

And  how  merry  the  wheels  did  go  ! 

"  And  I  peeped  into  the  widow's  field, 
And,  sure  enough,  was   seen 

The  yellow  ears  of  the  mildew  corn 
All  standing  stiff  and  green. 

"  And  down  the  weaver's  croft  I  stole, 
To  see  if  the  flax  were  high  ; 

But  I  saw  the  weaver  at  his  gate 
With  the  good  news  in  his  eye  ! 

"  Now,  this  is  all  I  heard,  mother. 

And  all  that  I  did  see  ; 
So,  prithee,  make  my  bed,  mother. 

For  I'm  tired  as  I  can  be  !  " 

Mary  UowiU. 


118 


Poems  for  Children. 


NOW   THE   HTJNGBY   LION 
BOABS. 

Now  the  hungry  lion  roars, 

And  the  wolf  behowls  the  moon  ; 
Whilst  the  heavy  ploughman  snores, 

All  with  weary  task  foredone. 
Now  the  wasted  brands  do  glow, 

Whilst    the    scritch    owl,    scritching 
loud. 
Puts  the  wretch  that  lies  in  woe, 

In  remembrance  of  a  shroud. 
Now  it  is  the  time  of  night 

That  the  graves  all  gaping  wide, 
Every  one  lets  forth  his  sprite. 

In  the  church  way  paths  to  glide : 
And  we  fairies  that  do  run. 

By  the  triple  Hecate's  Team, 
From  the  presence  of  the  sun, 

Following  darkness  like  a  dream, 
Now  are  frolic  ;    not  a  mouse 
Shall  disturb  this  hallowed  house : 
I  am  sent  with  broom  before. 
To  sweep  the  dust  behind  the  door. 

Through    the   house  give    glimmering 
light ; 

By  the  dead  and  drowsy  fire. 
Every  elf  and  fairy  sprite. 

Hop  as  light  as  bird  from  briar; 
And  this  ditty  after  me. 
Sing  and  dance  it  trippingly. 
First  rehearse  this  song  by  rote. 
To  each  word  a  warbling  note, 


Hand  in  hand  with  fairy  grace. 
We  will  sing,  and  bless  this  place. 

William  Shakespeare, 


FAIHIES'  BECAIili. 

While  the  blue  is  richest 

In  the  starry  sky. 
While  the  softest  shadows 

On  the  green  sward  lie, 
While   the   moonlight   slumbers 

In  the  lily's  urn. 
Bright  elves  of  the  wild  wood  | 

Oh  !  return,  return  ! 

Round  the  forest  fountains, 

On  the  river  shore. 
Let  your  silvery  laughter 

Echo  yet  once  more. 
While  the  joyous  bounding 

Of  your  dewy  feet 
Rings   to   that   old   chorus : 

"  The  daisy  is  so  sweet }  " 

Oberon,  Titania, 

Did  your  starlight  mirth 
With  the  song  of  Avon 

Quit  this  work-day  earth  ? 
Yet  while  green  leaves  glisten 

And  while  bright  stars  burn, 
By  that  magic  memory, 

Oh  {    return,  return  ! 

Felicia  Dorothea  Hemana. 


FABLES    AND    RIDDLES. 


FABLES   FOR  F-IVEYEARS 
OLD. 


THE   BOY   AND    HIS    TOP. 

A  LITTLE  Boy  had  bought  a  Top, 
The  best  in  all  the  toyman's  shop  ; 
He  made  a  whip  with  good  eel's-skin, 
He  lash'd  the  top,  and  made  it  spin  ; 
All  the  children  within  call. 
And  the  servants,  one  and  all. 
Stood  round  to  see  it  and  admire. 
At  last  the  Top  began  to  tire, 
He    cried    out,    "  Pray    don't    hit    me 

Master, 
You  whip  too  hard, — I  can't  spin  faster, 
I  can  spin  quite  as  well  without  it." 
The  little  Boy  replied,  "  I  doubt  it ; 
I  onl}'  whip  you  for  your  good. 
You  were  a  foolish  lump  of  wood, 
By  dint  of  whipping  you  were  raised 
To  see  yourself  admired  and  praised. 
And  if  I  left  you,  you'd  remain 
A  foohsh  lump  of  wood  again." 

EXPLANATION. 

Whipping  sounds  a  little  odd, 

I  don't  mean  whipping  with  a  rod. 

It  means  to  teach  a  boy  incessantly. 

Whether  by  lessons  or  more  pleasantly. 

Every  hour  and  every  day. 

By  every  means  in  every  way, 

By  reading,  writing,  rhyming,  talking. 

By  riding  to  see  sights,  and  walking  : 

If  you  leave  off  he  drops  at  once, 

A  lumpish,  wooden-headed  dunce. 

John  Hookham  Frere. 


THE   BOY  AND    THE  PARROT. 

"  Parkot,  if  I  had  your  wings, 

I  should  do  so  many  things. 

The  first  thing  I  should  like  to  do 

If  I  had  little  wings  like  you, 

I  should  fly  to  Uncle  Bartle*, 

Don't   you    think    'twould    make    him 

startle. 
If  he  saw  me  when  I  came, 
Flapping  at  the  window  frame. 
Exactly  like  the  print  of  Fame  ?  " 
All  this  the  wise  old  Parrot  heard, 
The  Parrot  was  an  ancient  bird. 
And  paused  and  pondered  every  word. 
First,  therefore,  he  began  to  cough. 
Then  said, — "  It  is  a  great  way  off, — 
A  great  way  off,  my  dear  :  " — and  then 
He  paused  awhile  and  coughed  again, — 
"  Master  John,  pray  think  a  little. 
What     will     you     do     for     bed     and 

victual  ?  " 
— "  Oh  !    Parrot,  Uncle  John  can  tell — 
But  we  should  manage  very  well. 
At  night  we'd  perch  upon  the  trees. 
And  so  fly  forward  by  degrees." — 
— "  Does    Uncle    John,"    the    Parrot 

said, 
"  Put  nonsense  in  his  nephew's  head  ? 
IiLstead  of  telling  you  such  things. 
And  teaching  5^ou  to  Avish  for  wings, 
I   think  he   might    have    taught    you 

better  ; 
You    might    have    learnt    to    write  a 

letter  :  — 
That  is  the  thing  that  I  should  do 
If  I  had  little  hands  like  you." 

John  Hookham  Frere. 


•  The  uncle,  Bartholomew  Frere,  was  then  at 
Coiistiiiitinople. 


120 


Poems  for  Children. 


THE  BOY  AND  THE  WOLF. 

A  LITTLE  Boy  was  set  to  keep 

A  little  flock  of  goats  or  sheep 

He  thought  the  task  too  solitary, 

And  took  a  strange  perverse  vagary, 

To  call  the  people  out  of  fun. 

To  see  them  leave  their  work  and  run, 

He   cried   and   screamed   with  all  his 

might, — 
"  Wolf  !  wolf  !  "  in  a  pretended  fright. 
Some  people,  working  at  a  distance. 
Came  running  in  to  his  assistance. 
They  searched  the  fields  and  bushes 

round. 
The  Wolf  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 
The  Boy,  delighted  with  his  game, 
A  few  days  after  did  the  same. 
And  once  again  the  people  came. 
The  trick  was  many  times  repeated. 
At   last   they   found   that   they   were 

cheated. 
One  day  the  Wolf  appeared  in  sight. 
The  Boy  was  in  a  real  fright. 
He  cried,  "  Wolf  !  wolf  !  " — the  neigh- 
bours heard. 
But  not  a  single  creature  stirred. 
"  We  need  not  go  from  our  employ, — 
'Tis  nothing  but  that  idle  boy." 
The  little  Boy  cried  out  again, 
"Help,   help!     the  Wolf!"   he  cried 

in  vain. 
At  last  his  master  came  to  beat  him. 
He  came  too  late,  the  Wolf  had  eat  him. 

This  shows  the  bad  effect  of  lying. 
And  likewise  of  continual  crying. 
If  I  had  heard  you  scream  and  roar, 
For  nothing,  twenty  times  before, 
Although  you  might  have  broke  your 

arm. 
Or  met  with  any  serious  harm. 
Your  cries  could  give  me  no  alarm, 
They  would  not  make  me  move  the 

faster, 
Nor  apprehend  the  least  disaster  ; 
I  should  be  sorry  when  I  came. 
But  you  yourself  would  be  to  blame. 

John  Hoolcham  Frere. 


THE    PIECE    OF     GLASS    AND 
THE    PIECE    OF    ICE. 

Once  on  a  time  it  came  to  pass, 
A  piece  of  ice  and  a  piece  of  glass 


Were  Ij'ing  on  a  bank  together. 
There     came     a    sudden     change     of  j 

weather. 
The  sun  shone  through  them  botii. — 

The  ice 
Turned  to  his  neighbour  for  advice. 
The  piece  of  glass  made  this  reply  — 
"  Take  care  by  all  means  not  to  cry," 
The  foolish  piece  of  ice  relied 
On  being  pitied  if  he  cried. 
The  story  says — That  he  cried  oa 
TiU  he  was  melted  and  quite  gone. 

This  may  serve  you  for  a  rule 
With  the  little  boys  at  school ; 
If  you  weep,  I  must  forewarn  ye. 
All  the  boys  will  tease  and  scorn  ye. 

John  HookJiam  Frere, 


THE  CAVERN  AND   THE  HUT. 

An  ancient  cavern,  huge  and  wide. 

Was  hollowed  in  a  mountain's  side. 

It  served  no  purpose  that  I  know. 

Except  to  shelter  sheep  or  so, 

Yet  it  was  spacious,  warm,  and  dry. 

There  stood  a  little  hut  hard  by. — ■ 

The  cave  was  empty  quite,  and  poor. 

The  hut  was  f uU  of  furniture  ; 

By  looking  to  his  own  affairs, 

He  got  a  table  and  some  chairs, 

All  useful  instruments  of  metal, 

A  pot,  a  fi-ying-pan,  a  kettle, 

A  clock,  a  warming-pan,  a  jack, 

A  salt-box  and  a  bacon-rack  ; 

With  plates    and    knives    and    forks, 

and  dishes, 
And  lastly  to  complete  his  wishes. 
He  got  a  sumptuous  pair  of  bellows. — 
The  cavern  was  extremely  jealoua : 
"  How  can  that  paltry  hut  contrive 
In  this  poor  neighbourhood  to  thrive  ?  " 
"  The  reason's  plain,"  replied  the  hut. 
Because  I  keep  my  mouth  close  shut ; 
Whatever  my  good  master  brings. 
For  furniture,  or  household  things, 
I  keep  them  close  and  shut  the  door. 
While  you  stand  yawning  evermore." 

If  a  little  boy  is  yawning 
At  his  lesson  every  morning, 
Teaching  him  in  prose  or  rhyme 
Will  be  merely  loss  of  time  ; 


Fables  and   Riddles 


121 


All  your  pains  are  thrown  away. 
Nothing  will  remain  a  day 
(Nothing  you  can  teach  or  say 
Nothing  he  has  heard  or  read). 
In  his  poor  unfurnished  head. 

John  Hookkam  Frere, 


SHOWING-  HOW  THE  CAVEBN 

FOLLOWED   THE    HUT'S 

ADVICE. 

This  fable  is  a  very  short  one : 

The  cave  resolved  to  make  his  fortune  ; 

He  got  a  door  and  in  a  year 

Enriched  himself  with  vine  and  beer. 

Mamma  will  ask  you,  can  you  tell  her, 
What     did     the     cave     become  ? — A 
cellar. 

John  Ilookhmn  Frere. 


THE  BOD  AND  THE  WHIP. 

The  Rod  and  Whip  had  some  disputes  ; 
One  managed  boys,  the  other  brutes. 
Each  pleaded  his  superior  nature. 
The  Goad  was  chosen  arbitrator, 
A  judge  acquainted  with  the  matter. 
Upright,  inflexible,  and  dry. 
And  always  pointed  in  reply  : — 
"  'Tis    hard,"    he    said,    "  to    pass    a 

sentence 
Betwixt   two   near   and   old   acquain- 
tance ; 
The  Whip  alleges  that  he  drives 
The  plough,  by  which  the  farmer  lives. 
And  keeps  his  horses  in  obedience. 
And   on   this   ground   he   claims   pre- 
cedence. 
The  Red  asserts  that  httle  boys. 
With  nonsense,  nastiness  and  noise. 
Screaming  and  quarrelling  and  fighting. 
Not  knowing  figures,  books  or  writing. 
Would    be    far    worse    than    farmers' 

horses, 
But  for  the  rules  which  he  enforces, — 
He  proves  his  claims  as  clear  as  day. 
So  Whips  and  Goads  must  both  give 
way. 

John  Hookham  Frere. 


THE    NINE-PINS. 

BEING   A  FABLE   FOR  SIX   YEARS   OLD. 

A  NiNEPiN  that  was  left  alone. 
When  all  his  friends  were  overthrown, 
Every  minute  apprehending 
The  destructive  stroke  impending. 
Earnestly  complained  and  cried ; 
But  Master  Henry  thus  replied  : — 
"  Are  you  the  wisest  and  the  best  ? 
Or  any  better  than  the  rest  ? 
AVhile  you  linger  to  the  leist, 
How  has  all  your  time  been  past  ? 
Standing  stupid,   unimproved. 
Idle,  useless,  unbeloved  ; 
Nothing  you  can  do  or  say 
Shall  debar  me  from  my  play." 

The  Nine- pins  you  perceive  are  men, 
'Tis  death  that  answers  them  again. 
And  the  fable's  moral  truth 
Suits  alike  with  age  and  youth. 
How  can  age  of  death  complain. 
If  his  life  has  past  in  vain  ? 
How  can  youth  deserve  to  last 
If  his  life  is  idly  past  ? 
And  the  final  application 
Marks  the  separate  obligation, 
Fairly  placed  within  our  reach. 
Yours  to  learn,  and  mine  to  teach. 

John  Hookham  Frere. 


PRECEPT    AND   PRACTICE. 

A  YOUNGSTEE  at  school,  more  sedate 

than  the  rest, 
Had  once  his  integrity  put  to  the  test : — 
His  comrades  had  plotted  an  orchard 

to  rob. 
And  asked  him  to  go  and  assist  in  the 

job. 

He    waa    very    much    shocked,    and 

answered,  "  Oh,  no  ! 
What,  rob  our  poor  neighbour  !     I  pray 

3'ou  don't  go  ; 
Besides  the  man's  poor,  his  orchard's 

his  bread  ; 
Then  think  of  his  children,   for  they 

must  be  fed." 


122 


Poems  for  Children. 


"  You  speak  very  fine,  and  you  look 

very  grave, 
But  apples  we  want,  and  apples  we'll 

have  ; 
If  you  will  go  with  us,  we'll  give  you 

a  share. 
If  not,   you  shall  have  neither  apple 

nor  pear." 

They  spoke,   and  Tom  pondered,   "  I 

see  they  wiU  go  ; 
Poor   man !     what    a   pity    to    injure 

him  so  ; 
Poor    man  !     I    would    save    him    his 

fruit  if  I  could. 
But  staying   behind   will   do   him   no 


"  If  this  matter  depended  alone  upon 

me, 
His  apples  might  hang  till  they  dropped 

from  the  tree  ; 
But  since  they  will  take  them,  I  think 

I'll  go  too  ; 
He  will  lose  none  by  me,  though  I  get 

a  few." 

His  scruples   thus   silenced,  Tom   felt 

more  at  ease. 
And  went  with  his  comrades  the  apples 

to  seize  ; 
He  blamed  and  protested,  but  joined 

in  the  plan  ; 
He  shared  in  the  plunder,  but  pitied 

the  man. 

William  Cowper. 


THE  COTTAGER  AND  HIS 
LANDIiORD. 

FEOM   THE   LATIN    OF   MILTON. 

A   PEASANT   to  his  lord  paid  yearly 

court, 
Presenting  pippins  of  so  rich  a  sort. 
That   he,   displeased   to   have   a  part 

alone. 
Removed  the  tree,  that  all  might  be 

his  own. 
The   tree,   too   old   to   travel,   though 

before 
So  fruitful,  withered,  and  would  yield 

no  more. 


The  'squire,  perceiving  all   his  labour 

void, 
Cursed    his    own    pains,    so    foolishly 

emplo5^ed  ; 
And,   "  Oh  !  "  he  cried,   "  that  I  had 

lived  content 
With  tribute,  small  indeed,  but  kindly 

meant ! 
My  avarice  has  expensive  proved  to 

me. 
And  cost  me  both  my  pippins  and  my 

tree." 

William  Cowper. 


THE    COLUMBRIAD. 

Close  by  the  threshold  of  a  door  nailed 

fast 
Three  kittens  sat ;    each  kitten  looked 

aghast ; 
I,  passing  swift  and  inattentive  by, 
At   the   three   kittens   cast  a   careless 

eye; 
Little  concerned  to  know  what  they  did 

there  ; 
Not    deeming   kittens  worth    a    poet's 

care. 
But  presently  a  loud  and  furious  hiss 
Caused   me   to   stop   and   to   exclaim 

"  What's  this  ?  " 
When  lo  !     a  viper  there  did  meet  my 

view 
With  head  erect  and  eyes  of  fiery  hue 
Forth  from  his  head  his  forked  tongue 

he  throws. 
Darting  it  full  against  a  kitten's  nose  ! 
Who,  never  having  seen  in  field  or  house 
The  like,  sat  still  and  silent  as  a  mouse 
Only  projecting,  with  attention  due. 
Her   whiskered   face,   she   asked   him 

"  Who  are  you  ?  " 
On  to  the  hall  went  I,  with  pace  not 

slow 
But    swift    as    lightning,    for    a    long 

Dutch  hoe  ; 
With  which,  well  armed,   I  hastened 

to  the  spot 
To  find  the  viper  ; — but  I  foimd  him 

not ; 
And  turning  up  the  leaves  and  shrubs 

around, 
Foimd  only — that  he  was  not  to  be 

found. 
But  still  the  kittens,  sitting  as  before. 
Were  watching  close  the  bottom  of  the 

door. 


Fables  and   Riddles. 


123 


"  I  hope,"  said  I,  "  the  villain  I  woiiUl 

kill 
Has  slipped  between  the  door  and  tlio 

door-sill ; 
And  if  I  make  despatcli,  and  follow  hard 
No  donbt  but  I  shall  find  him  in  tlie 

yard." 
(For  long  ere  now  it  should  have  been 

rehearsed, 
'Twas  in  the  garden  that  I  found  liim 

first.) 
Ev'n    there   I   found    him  ;     there    the 

full-grown  cat 
His  head,  with  velvet  paw,  did  gently 

pat ; 
As  curious  as  the  kittens  erst  had  been 
To  learn  what  this  phenomenon  might 

mean. 
Filled  with  heroic  arilour  at  the  sight. 
And  fearing  every  moment  he  would 

bite. 
And  rob  our  household  of  the  only  eat 
That  was  of  age  to  combat  with  a  rat. 
With  outstretched  hoe  I  slew  him  at 

the  door. 
And  taught  him  never  to  come  there 

NO  MORE. 

WiUiam  Cowper. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  AND  THE 
SaTJIBREIi. 

The  mountain  and  the  squirrel 

Had  a  quarrel. 

And  the  former  called  the  latter  "  Little 

prig  :  " 
Bun  replied, 

"  You  are  doubtless  very  big  ; 
But  all  sorts  of  things  and  weather 
Must  be  taken  in  together 
To  make  up  a  year. 
And  a  sphere. 
And  I  think  it  no  disgrace 
To  occupy  my  place. 
If  I'm  not  so  large  as  you. 
You  p.re  not  so  small  as  I, 
And  not  half  so  spry  : 
I'll  not  deny  you  make 
A  very  pretty  squirrel  track. 
Talents  differ  ;    all  is  well  and  wisely 

put ; 
If  I  cannot  carry  forests  on  my  back, 
Neither  can  you  crack  a  nut." 


JiaJph  Waldo  Hmtrson, 


THE    RAVEN. 

Underneath  a  huge  oak  tree 

There  was  of  swine  a  huge  company, 

That   grunted    as    they    crunched    tiu' 

mast ; 
For  that  was  ripe,  and  fell  full  fast. 
Then  they  trotted  away,  for  the  wini! 

it  grew  high  : 
One    acorn    they    left,    and    no    more 

might  you  spy. 
Next   came   a   Raven,   that  liked   not 

such  folly  : 
He  belonged,  they  did  say,  to  the  witch 

Melancholy  ! 
Blacker  was  he  than  blackest  jet. 
Flew  low  in  the  rain  and  his  feathers 

not  wet. 
He  picked  up  the  acorn  and  buried  it 

straight 
By  the  side  of  a  river  both  deep  and 

great. 
Where  then  did  the  Raven  go  't 
He  went  high  and  low. 
Over   hillj  over    dale,  did    the     black 

Raven  go. 
Many  autumns    many  springs 
Travelled      he      with      wandering 

wings : 
Many  summers,  many  winters — 
I  can't  tell  half  his  adventures. 
At  length  he  came  back  and  with  him  a 

she, 
And  the  acorn  wa.s  grown  to  a  tall  oaic 

tree. 
They  built  them  a  nest  in  the  top-most 

bough. 
And  young  ones  they  had,  and  were 

happy  enow. 
But  soon  came  a  woodman  in  leathern 

guise. 
His  brow,  like  a  pent  house  hung  over 

his  eyes. 
He'd  an  axe  in  his  hand,  not  a  word 

he  spoke. 
But  with  many  a  hem  !     and  a  sturdy 

stroke. 
At  length  he  brought  down  the  poor 

Raven's  old  oak. 
His  young  ones  were   killed,  for  they 

could  not  depart. 
And  their  mother  did  die  of  a  broken 

heart. 
The  bouglis  from  the  trunk  the  wood- 
man did  sever  ; 
And  they  floated  it  down  on  the  coui'se 

of  the  river. 


124 


Poems  for  Children. 


Tliey  sawed  it  in  planks,  and  its  back 

they  did  strip, 
And   with  this  tree   and   others  they 

made  a  good  ship. 
The  ship  it  was  launched,  but  in  sight 

of  the  land 
Such  a  storm  there  did  rise  as  no  ship 

could  withstand. 
It  bulged  on  a  rock,  and  the  waves 

rushed  in  fast ; 
The  old  Raven  flew  round  and  round, 

and  cawed  to  the  blast. 
He  heard  the  last  shriek  of  the  perishing 

souls — 
See  !  see  !  o'er  the  top-mast  the  mad 

water  rolls  ! 
Right  glad  was  the  Raven,  and  off 

he  went  fleet. 
And  Death  riding  home  on  a  cloud  he 

did  meet. 
And  he  thanked  him  again  and  again 

for  this  treat : 
They  had  taken  his  all,  and  revenge 

it  was  sweet. 

S.  T.  Coleridge. 


THE   BEECH-TBEE'S 
PETITION. 

0  LEAVE  this  barren  spot  to  me  ! 
Spare,    woodman,    spare   the    beechen 

tree  ! 
Though  bush  or  floweret  never  grow 
My  dark  unwarming  shade  below  ; 
Nor  summer  bud  perfume  the  dew 
Of  rosy  blush,  or  yellow  hue  ; 
Nor  fruits  of  autumn,  blossom-born. 
My  green  and  glossy  leaves  adorn  ; 
Nor  murmuring  tribes  from  me  derive 
Th'  ambrosial  amber  of  the  hive  ; 
Yet  leave  this  barren  spot  to  me  ; 
Spare^    woodman,    spare   the   beechen 

tree  ! 

Thrice  twenty  summers  I  have  seen 
The  sky  grow  bright,  the  forest  green  ; 
And  many  a  wintry  wind  have  stood 
In  bloomless,  fruitless  soUtude, 
Since  childhood  in  my  pleasant  bower 
First  spent  its  sweet  and  sportive  hour, 
Since  youthful  lovers  in  my  shade 
Then:  vows  of  truth  and  rapture  made  ; 
And  on  my  trunk's  surviving  frame 
Carved  many  a  long-forgotten  name. 


Oh  !  by  the  sighs  of  gentle  sound. 
First  breathed  upon  this  sacred  ground  ; 
By  all  that  Love  has  whispered  here. 
Or  Beauty  heard  with  ravished  ear  ; 
As  Love's  own  altar  honour  me  : 
Spare,    woodman,    spare    the   beechen 
tree  1 

Thomas  Campbell. 


THE    WATEBFALL    AND    THE 
EGLANTINE. 

"  Begone,   thou    fond    presumptuous 
Elf," 

Exclaimed  an  angry  voice, 
"  Nor  dare  to  thrust  thy  foolish  self 

Between  me  and  my  choice  !  " 
A  small  Cascade  fresh  swohi  with  snows 
Thus  threatened  a  poor  Briar-rose, 
That,  all  bespattered  with  his  foam, 
And  dancing  high  and  dancing  low. 
Was  living,  as  a  child  might  know, 

In  an  unhappy  home. 

"  Dost    thou    presume    my    course    to 
block  ? 

Off,  off  !  or,  puny  Thing  ! 
I'll  hurl  thee  headlong  with  the  rock 

To  which  thy  fibres  cling." 
The  Flood  was  tyrannous  and  strong. 
The  patient  Briar  suffered  long. 
Nor  did  he  utter  groan  or  sigh. 
Hoping  the  danger  would  be  past ; 
But,  seeing  no  relief,  at  last, 

He  ventured  to  reply. 

"  Ah  !  "   said  the  Briar,   "  blame  me 
not : 

Whj'  should  we  dwell  in  strife  7 
We  who  in  this  sequestered  spot 

Once  lived  a  happy  life  ! 
You  stirred  me  on  my  rocky  bed — 
What  pleasure  through  my  veins  you 

spread  ! 
The  summer  long,  from  day  to  day, 
My  leaves  you  freshened  and  bedewed  : 
Nor  was  it  common  gratitude 

That  did  your  cares  repay. 

"  When  spring  came  on  with  bud  and 
beU, 

Among  the  rocks  did  I, 
Before  you  hang  my  wreaths  to  tell 

That  gentle  days  were  nigh  ! 


Fables  and  Riddles. 


125 


And  in  the  sultry  summer  hours, 
I  sheltered  you  with  leaves  and  flowers  ; 
And  in  my  leaves — now  shed  and  gone — 
The  linnet  lodged,  and  for  us  two 
Chanted  his  pretty  songs,  when  you 
Had  little  voice  or  none. 

"But  now  proud  thoughts  are  in  your 
breast— 
What  grief  is  mine  you  see. 
Ah  !  would  you   think,  even  yet  how 
blest 
Together  we  might  be  ! 
Though    of    both     leaf     and     flower 

bereft, 
Some  ornaments  to  me  are  left — 
Rich  store  of  scarlet  hips  is  mine, 
With  which  I,  in  my  humble  way, 
AVould  deck  you  many  a  winter  day  ; 
A  happy  Eglantine  !  " 

What  more  he  said  I  cannot  tell, 
'J'lie    stream    came    thundering    down 
the  dell, 

Witli  aggravated  haste  : 
I  listened,  nor  aught  else  could  hear  ; 
The  Briar  quaked — and  much  I  fear 

Those  accents  were  his  last. 

Willuim  Wordsworth. 


THE    PINE-APPLE    AND    THE 
BEE. 

The  pine-apples  in  triple  row, 
AV'ere  basking  hot,  and  all  in  blow  ; 
A  bee  of  most  discerning  taste 
Perceived  the  fragrance  as  he  passed  ; 
On  eager  wing  the  spoiler  came, 
And  searched  for  crannies  in  the  frame. 
Urged  his  attempt  on  every  side. 
To  every  pane  his  trunk  applied  ; 
But  still  in  vain,  the  frame  was  tight, 
And  only  pervious  to  the  liglit : 
Thus,  having  wasted  half  the  day. 
He  trimmed  his  flight  another  way. 

Methinks,  I  said,  in  thee  I  find 
The  sin  and  madness  of  mankind. 
To  joys  forbidden  man  aspires. 
Consumes  his  soul  with  vain  desires  ; 
Folly  the  spring  of  his  pursuit. 
And  disappointment  all  the  fruit. 
***** 

The  maid,  who  views  with  pensive  air 
The  show-glass  fraught  with  glittering 
ware. 


Sees    watches,    bracelets,    rings,    and 

lockets, 
But  sighs  at  thought  of  empty  pockets  ; 
Like  thine,  her  appetite  is  keen. 
But  ah,  the  cruel  glass  between  ! 

Our  dear  delights  are  often  such, 
Exposed  to  view,  but  not  to  touch  ; 
The  sight  our  foolish  heart  inflames. 
We  long  for  pine-apples  in  frames  ; 
With    hopeless    wish    one    looks    and 

lingers  ; 
One   breaks   the   glass,    and   cuts   his 

fingers  ; 
But  they,  whom  truth  and  wisdom  lead. 
Can  gather  honey  from  a  weed. 

William  Cowper. 


THE  BHTTERELY  AND  THE 

SNAIL. 

As  in  the  sunshine  of  the  morn 
A  butterfly  (but  newly  born) 
Sat  proudly  perking  on  a  rose. 
With  pert  conceit  his  bosom  glows ; 
His  wings  (all  glorious  to  behold) 
Bedropt  with  azure,  jet,  and  gold. 
Wide  he  displays  ;   the  spangled  dew 
Reflects  his  eyes  and  various  hue. 

His  now  forgotten  friend  a  snail. 
Beneath  his  house,  with  slimy  trail. 
Crawls  o'er  the  grass,  whom  when  he 

spies. 
In  wrath  he  to  the  gardener  cries  : 

"What   means   yon  peasant's  daily 
toil, 
From  choking  weeds  to  rid  the  soil  ? 
Why  wake  you  to  the  morning's  care  ? 
\Vhy  with  now  arts  correct  the  year  ? 
Why  grows  the  peach's  crimson  hue  ? 
And  why  the  plum's  inviting  blue  ? 
Were  they  to  feast  his  taste  design'd, 
That  vermin  of  voracious  kind  ! 
Crush  then  the  slow,  the  pilfering  race. 
So  purge  thy  garden  from  disgrace." 

''  What  arrogance  !  "  the  snail  replied ; 
"  How  insolent  is  upstart  pride  ! 
Hadst  thou  not  thus,  with  insult  vain 
Provok'd  my  patience  to  complain, 
I  had  conceal'd  thy  meaner  birth. 
Nor  trac'd  thee  to  the  scum  of  earth  ; 
For  scarce  nine  suns  have  wak'd  the 

hours. 
To    swell    the    fruit,    and    paint    the 
flowers, 


126 


Poems  for  Children. 


Since  I  thy  humbler  life  surve^y'd. 
In  base,  in  sordid  guise  array'd. 
I  own  my  humble  life,  good  friend  ; 
Snail  was  I  born  and  snail  shall  end. 
And  what's  a  butterfly  ?     At  best 
He's  but  a  caterpillar  drest ; 
And  all  thy  race  (a  numerous  seed) 
Shall  prove  of  caterpillar  breed  ! " 

John  Gay. 


THE    NIGHTINGAIiE   AND 
GliOW-WOBM. 

A  NiCHTiNOALE,  that  all  day  long 
Had  cheered  the  village  with  his  song, 
Nor  yet  at  eve  his  note  suspended, 
Xor  yet  when  eventide  was  ended. 
Began  to  feel,  as  well  he  might. 
The  keen  demands  of  appetite  ; 
When,  looking  eagerly  around, 
He  spied  far  off,  upon  the  ground, 
A  something  shining  in  the  dark, 
And  knew  the  glow-worm  by  his  spark  ; 
So,  stooping  down  from  hawthorn  top, 
He  thought  to  put  him  in  his  crop. 
The  worm,  aware  of  his  intent. 
Harangued  him  thus,  right  eloq\ient — 
"  Did  you  admire  my  lamp,"  quoth  he, 
"  As  much  as  I  your  minstrelsy. 
You  would  abhor  to  do  me  wrong. 
As  much  as  I  to  spoil  your  song  ; 
For  'twas  the  self-same  power  divine. 
Taught  you  to  sing,  and  me  to  shine  ; 
That  you  with  music,  I  with  light. 
Might  beautify  and  cheer  the  night." 
The  songster  heard  his  short  oration. 
And  warbling  out  his  approbation. 
Released  him,  as  my  story  tells. 
And  found  a  supper  somewhere  else. 

William  Cowper. 


THE  HORSE. 

HOP.SE,  long  used  to  bit  and  bridle, 
But  always  much  disposed  to  idle. 
Had  often  wished  that  he  was  able 
To  steal  unnoticed  from  the  stable. 

He  panted  from  his  inmost  soul. 
To  be  at  nobody's  control. 
Go  his  own  pace,  slower  or  faster. 
In  short,  do  nothing — like  bis  master, 


But  yet  he  ne'er  had  got  at  large. 
If  Jack  (who  had  him  in  his  charge) 
Had  not,  as  many  have  before. 
Forgot  to  shut  the  stable-door. 

Dobbin,  with  expectation  swelling. 
Now  rose  to  quit  his  present  dwelling, 
But  first  peeped  out  with  cautious  fear. 
To  examine  if  the  coast  were  clear. 

At  length  he  ventured  from  his  station. 
And  with  extreme  self-approbation. 
As  if  delivered  from  a  load. 
He  galloped  to  the  public  road. 

And  here  he  stood  awhile  debating, 
(Till  he  was  almost  tired  of  waiting). 
Which   way   he'd   please   to    bend   his 

course. 
Now  there  was  nobody  to  force. 

At  last  imchecked  by  bit  or  rein. 
He  sauntered  down  a  pleasant  lane, 
And  neighed  forth  many  a  jocund  song. 
In  triumph,  as  he  pass'd  along. 

But  when  dark  night  began  t'appear. 
In  vain  he  sought  some  shelter  near. 
And  well  he  knew  he  could  not  bear 
To  sleep  out  in  the  open  air. 

The  grass  felt  very  damp  and  raw, 
Much  colder  than  his  master's  straw  ; 
Yet  on  it  he  was  forced  to  stretch, 
A  poor,  cold,  melanclioly  wretch. 

The  night  was  dark,  the  country  hilly. 
Poor   Dobbin  felt  extremely  chilly, 
Perliaps  a  feeling  like  remorse. 
Just  then  might  sting  the  truant  horse. 

As  soon  as  day  began  to  dawn, 
Dobbin  with  long  and  weary  yawn. 
Arose  from  this  his  sleepless  night. 
But  in  low  spirits  and  bad  plight 

If  this  (thought  he)  is  all  I  get, 

A   bed    unwholesome,  cold,  and  wet ; 

And  thus  forlorn  about  to  roam, 

I  think  I'd  better  be  at  home. 

'Twas  long  ere  Dobbin  could  decide 
Betwixt  his  wishes  and  his  pride. 
Whether  to  live  in  all  this  danger. 
Or  go  back  sneaking  to  the  manger. 


Fables  and   Riddles. 


127 


At  last  his  struggling  pride  gave  way  ; 
The  thought  of  savory  oats  and  hay 
To  hungry  stomach  was  a  reason 
Unanswerable  at  this  season. 

So  off  he  set  with  look  profound, 
Kight   glad    that    he    was    homeward 

bound  ; 
And  trotting,  fast  as  he  was  able, 
Soon   gained   once   more   his   master's 

stable. 

Now  Dobbin  after  this  disaster. 
Never  again  forsook  his  master, 
Convinc'd  he'd  better  let  him  mount. 
Than  travel  on  his  own  account. . 

Jane  Taylor. 


THE  COTTNCIL  OF  HORSES. 

Upon  a  time  a  neighing  steed, 
Who  graz'd  among  a  numerous  breed. 
With  mutiny  had  fired  the  train. 
And    spread    dissension    through    the 

plain. 
On  matters  that  concern'd  the  state. 
The  council  met  in  grand  debate. 
A  colt  whose  eyeballs  Hamed  with  ire. 
Elate  with  strength  and  youthful  lire. 
In  haste  stept  forth  before  the  rest. 
And  thus  the  listening  throng  addre.-?s'd. 

"  flood  gods,  how  abject  is  the  race, 
C'ondemn'd  to  slavery  and  disgrace  ! 
Shall  we  our  servitude  retain. 
Because  our  sires  have  borne  the  chain  ? 
Consider,  friends  !    your   strength  and 

might ; 
'Tis  conquest  to  assert  your  right. 
How  cumbrous  is  the  gilded  coach  ! 
The  pride  of  man  is  our  reproach. 
Were  we  desigu'd  for  daily  toil. 
To  drag  the  ploughshare  through  tiie 

soil. 
To  sweat  in  harness  through  the  road. 
To  groan  beneath  the  carrier's  load  ? 
How  feeble  are  the  two-legg'd  kind  ! 
What  force  is  in  our  nerves  combin'd  ! 
Shall  then  our  nobler  jaws  submit 
To  foam  and  champ  the  galling  bit  '.' 
Shall  haughty  man  my  back  bestride  "/ 
Shall  the  sharp  spur  provoke  my  side  '! 
Forbid  it,  heavens  !  reject  the  rein  ; 
Your  shame,  your  infamy,  disdain. 
Let  him  the  lion  first  control. 
And  still  the  tiger's  famish'd  growl. 


Let  us,  like  them,  our  freedom  claim, 
And  make  him  tremble  at  our  name." 

A  general  nod  approv'd  the  cause. 
And  all  the  circle  neigh'd  applause, 
When,    lo !     with    grave    and    solemn 

pace, 
A  steed  advano'd  before  the  race. 
With  age  and  long  experience  wise  ; 
Around  he  cast  his  thoughtful  eyes. 
And,  to  the  murmurs  of  the  train. 
Thus  spoke  the  Nestor  of  the  plain. 

"  When  I  had  health  and  strength 
like  you 
The  toils  of  servitude  I  knew  ; 
Now  grateful  man  rewards  my  pains. 
And  gives  me  all  these  wide  domains. 
At  will  I  crop  the  year's  increase  ; 
My  latter  life  is  rest  and  peace. 
I  grant,  to  man  we  lend  our  pains, 
And  aid  hnn  to  correct  the  plains  ; 
But  doth  not  he  divide  the  care. 
Through  all  the  labours  of  the  year  ? 
How  many  thousand  structures  rise, 
To  fence  us  from  inclement  skies  ! 
For  us  he  bears  the  sultry  day, 
And  stores  up  all  our  winter's  hay. 
He  sows,  he  reaps  the  harvest's  gain, 
We  share  the  toil  and  share  the  grain. 
Since  every  creature  was  decreed 
To  aid  each  other's  mutual  need. 
Appease  your  discontented  mind. 
And  act  the  part  by  heaven  assign'd ! 

The    tumult    ceas'd,    the    colt    sub- 
mitted. 
And,  like  his  ancestors,  was  bitted. 

John  Gay. 


THE    EAGLE    AND    THE 
ASSEMBLY  OF  ANIMALS. 

As  Jupiter's  all-seeing  eye 
Survey'd  the  world  beneath  the  sky. 
From  this  small  speck  of  earth  were  sent 
Murmurs  and  sounds  of  discontent ; 
For  every  thing  alive  complain'd 
That  he  the  hardest  life  sustain'd. 
Jove  calls  his  Eagle.     At  the  word 
Before  him  stands  the  royal  bird. 
Th'  obedient  bird,  from  heaven's  height, 
Downwards  directs  his  rapid  flight ; 
Then  cited  every  living  thing. 
To  hear  the  mandate  of  his  king. 

"  Ungrateful  creatures,  whence  arise 
These  murmurs  which  offend  the  skies  ? 
Why  this  disorder  ?     Say  the  cause. 
For  just  are  Jove's  eternal  laws  ; 


128 


Poems  for  Children. 


Let  each  his  discontent  reveal ; 
To  yon  sour  Dog,  I  first  appeal." 

"  Hard  is  my  lot,  the  Hound  replies  ; 
On  what  fleet  nerves  the  Greyhound 

flies! 
While  I,  with  weary  steps  and  slow, 
O'er  plains  and  vales  and  mountains  go. 
The  morning  sees  my  chase  begun, 
Nor  ends  it  till  the  setting  sun." 

"  When  "  (says  the  Greyhound)  "  T 

pursue. 
My  game  is  lost  or  caught  in  view ; 
Beyond  my  sight  the  prey's  secure  ; 
The  Hound  is  slow,  but  always  sure  ! 
And  had  I  his  sagacious  scent, 
Jove  ne'er  had  heard  my  discontent. 

The  Lion  craved  the  Fox's  art. 
The  Fox  the  Lion's  force  and  heart ; 
The  Cock  implored  the  Pigeon's  flight 
Whose  wings  were  rapid,  strong  and 

light. 
The  Pigeon  strength  of  wing  despised. 
And     the     Cock's     matchless     valour 

priz'd  ; 
The  Fishes  wish'd  to  graze  the  plain, 
The  Beasts  to  skim  beneath  the  main. 
Thus,  envious  of  another's  state. 
Each  blam'd  the  partial  hand  of  Fate. 

The  bird  of  heaven  then  cried  aloud, 
"  Jove   bids   disperse   the   murmuring 

crowd  ; 
The  god  rejects  your  idle  prayers. 
Would  ye,  rebellious  mutineers. 
Entirely  change  your  name  and  nature. 
And  be  the  very  envied  creature  ? — 
What ;  silent  all,  and  none  consent  ? 
Be  happy  then,  and  learn  content ; 
Nor  imitate  the  restless  mind. 
And  proud  ambition  of  mankind. 

John  Gay. 


See,  see,  the  murder'd  geese  appear  \ 
Why  are  those  bleeding  tiirkeys  there  T 
Why  all  around  this  cackling  train 
Who  haunt  ray  ears  for  chickens  slain?  " 

The  hungry  foxes  round  them  star'd, 
And  for  the  promis'd  feast  prepar'd. 

"  Where,  sir,  is  all  this  dainty  cheer  ? 
Nor  turlcej',  goose,  nor  hen  is  here. 
These  are  the  phantoms  of  your  brain  ; 
And  your  sons  lick  their  lips  in  vain,' 

"0,  gluttons,"  says  the  drooping  sire, 
'*  Restrain  inordinate  desire. 
Your  liquorish  taste  you  shall  deplore, 
When  peace  of  conscience  is  no  more. 
Does  not  the  hound  betray  our  pace  ? 
And  gins  and  guns  destroy  our  race  ? 
Thieves  dread  the  searching  eye  of  power 
And  never  feel  the  quiet  hour. 
Old  age  (which  few  of  us  shall  know) 
Now  puts  a  period  to  my  woe. 
Would  you  true  happiness  attain, 
Let  honesty  your  passions  rein ; 
So  live  in  credit  and  esteem, 
And  the  good  name  you  lost  redeem," 

"  The  counsel's  good  "  (a  fox  replies), 
"  Could  we  perform  what  you  advise. 
Think  what  our  ancestors  have  done  ; 
A  line  of  thieves  from  son  to  son. 
To  us  descends  the  long  disgrace. 
And  infamy  hath  marked  our  race. 
Though  we  like  harmless  sheep  should 

feed. 
Honest  in  thought,  in  word,  in  deed. 
Whatever  hen-roost  is  decreas'd. 
We  shall  be  thought  to  share  the  feast. 
The  change  shall  never  be  believ'd, 
A  lost  good  name  is  ne'er  retriev'd." 

"Nay  then,"  replies  the  feeble  fox, 
"  (But  hark,  I  hear  a  hen  that  clucks). 
Go  ;    but  bo  moderate  in  your  food  ; 
A  chicken,  too,  might  do  me  good," 

John  Gay. 


THE  FOX  AT  THE  POINT  OF 
DEATH. 

A  FOX  in  life's  extreme  decay, 
Weak,  sick  and  faint,  expiring  lay  ; 
All  appetite  had  left  his  maw. 
And  age  disarm'd  his  mumbling  jaw. 
His  numerous  race  around  liim  stand 
To  learn  their  dying  sire's  command. 
He  raised  his  head  with  whining  moan. 
And  thus  was  heard  the  feeble  tone  : 
"  Ah,  sons,  from  evil  ways  depart ; 
My  Crimea  lie  heavy  on  my  heart. 


THE  LION  AND  THE  CUB, 

A  LION  cub,  of  sordid  mind. 
Avoided  all  the  lion  kind  ; 
Fond     of    applause,     he    sought    the 

feasts 
Of  vulgar  and  ignoble  beasts  ; 
With  asses  all  his  time  he  spent, 
Their  club's  perpetual  president. 
He  caught  tiieir  manners,  looks,  and 

airs  ; 
An  ass  in  everything  but  ears  | 


Fables  and   Riddles. 


129 


If  e'er  his  Highness  meant  a  joke, 
They     grinn'd     applause     he  fore     he 

spoke  ; 
But  at  each  word  what  shouts  of  praise  ; 
Good  gods  !  how  naturally  he  brays ! 

Elate  with  flattery  and  conceit, 
He  seeks  his  royal  sire's  retreat ; 
Forward  and  fond  to  show  liis  parts, 
His  Highness  brays  ;   the  lion  starts. 

"  Puppy !  that  curs'd  vociferation 
Betrays  thy  life  and  conversation  : 
Coxcombs,  an  ever  noisy  race, 
Are  trumpets  of  their  own  disgrace. 

"  Why  so  severe  ?  "  the  cub  replies  ; 
"  Our  senate  always  held  me  wise  !  " 

"How  weak  is   pride,"  returns  tlie 
sire : 
"  All  fools  are  vain  when  fools  admire  ! 
But  know,  what  stupid  asses  prize. 
Lions  and  noble  beasts  despise." 

John  Gay. 


THE   TXJBKEY  AND  THE  ANT. 

In  other  men  we  faults  can  spy, 

And  blame  the  mote  that  dims  their 

eye; 
Each  little  speck  and  blemish  find. 
To  our  own  stronger  errors  blind. 

A  Turkey,  tired  of  common  food. 
Forsook  the  barn,  and  sought  the  wood  ; 
Behind  her  ran  an  infant  train, 
(Jolleeting,  here  and  there,  a  grain. 
"  Draw  near,   my  birds,"   the  mother 

cries, 
"  This  hill  delicious  fare  supplies. 
Behold  the  busy  negro  race, — 
See,  millions  blacken  all  the  place  ! 
Fear  not ;   like  me  with  freedom  eat ; 
An  ant  is  most  delightful  meat. 
How  blest,  how  envied,  were  our  life. 
Could   we   but   'scape   the   poulterer's 

knife  ! 
But    man,    cursed    man,    on    Turkeys 

preys. 
And  Christmas  shortens  all  our  days. 
Sometimes  with  oysters  we  combine, 
Sometimes  assist  the  savoury  chine  ; 
From  the  low  peasant  to  the  lord. 
The  Turkey  smokes  on  every  board. 
Some  men  for  gluttony  are  cursed. 
Of  the  seven  deadly  sins  the  worst." 
An    ant,  who    climbed    beyond  her 

reach. 
Thus    answer'd    from   a    neighbouring 

beech  j 


"  Ere  you  remark  another's  sin. 
Bid  thy  o\vn  conscience  look  Anthin  ; 
Control  thy  more  voracious  will, 
Nor,  for  a  breakfast,  nations  kill." 

John  Oay. 


THE    DOG    OF    BEFLECTION. 

A  noo  growing  thinner,  for  want  of  a 

dinner. 

Once  purloin'd  a  joint  from  a  tray  ; 

"  How  happy  I  am,  with  this  shoulder 

of  lamb  !  " 

Thought  the  cur,  as  he  trotted  away. 

But  the  way  that  he  took,  lay  just  over 
a  brook. 
Which  he  found  it  was  needful   to 
cross, 
So,  without  more  ado,  he  plunged  in  to 
go  through. 
Not  dreaming  of  danger  or  loss. 

But    what    should    appear,    in     this 
rivulet  clear. 
As    he    thought    upon    coolest    re- 
flection, 
But  a  cur  like  himself,  who  with  ill- 
gotten  pelf, 
Had  run  off  in  that  very  direction. 

Thought  the  dog,  a  propos  !  but  that 
instant  let  go 
(As  he  snatched  at  this  same  wafer- 
spaniel). 
The  piece  he  possess'd — so,  with  hunger 
distress 'd. 
He  slowly  walk'd  home  to  his  kennel. 

Hence,  when  we  are  needy,  don't  let 

us  be  greedy 

(Excuse  me  this  line  of  digression). 

Lest  in  snatcliiiig  at  all,  like  the  dog, 

we  let  fall 

The  good  that  we  have  in  possession. 

Jeffreys  Taylor. 


THE   MIIiKMAID. 

A  MILKMAID,  who  poised  a  full  pail  on 

her  head. 
Thus  mused  on  her  prospects  in  life, 

it  id  said : 


130 


Poems   for  Children. 


"  Let  me  see — I  should  think  that  this 

milk   will  procure 
One  hundred  good  eggs,  or  fourscore, 

to  be  sure. 

"  Well  then — stop  a  bit — it  must  not 

be  forgotten, 
Some  of  these  may  be  broken,  and  some 

may  be  rotten  ; 
But  if  twenty  for  accident  should  be 

detached. 
It  will  leave  me  just  sixty  sound  eggs 

to  be  hatched. 

"  Well,   sixty   sound   eggs — no,   sound 

chickens,  I  mean  : 
Of  these  some  may  die — we'll  suppose 

seventeen. 
Seventeen  !  not  so  many — say  ten  at 

the  most. 
Which  will  leave  fifty  chickens  to  boil 

or  to  roast. 

"  But  then,  there's  their  barley,  liow 

much  will  they  need  ? 
Why  they  take  but  one  grain  at  a  time 

when  they  feed  — 
So  that's  a  mere  trifle  ;    now  then,  let 

us  see. 
At  a  fair  market  price,  how  much  money 

there'll  be. 

"  Six    shillings    a     pair — five — four — 

three-and-six. 
To  prevent  all  mistakes,  that  low  price 

I  will  fix  : 
Now    what    will    that    make  ?     fifty 

chickens,  I  said — 
Fifty  times  three-and-sixpence — Fll  ask 

brother  Ned. 

"  O  !    but   stop — three-and-sixpence   a 

pair  I  must  sell  'em  ; 
Well,  a  pair  is  a  couple — now  then  let 

us  tell  'em  ; 
A   couple   in   fifty   will   go— (my   poor 

brain  !) 
Why  just  a  score  times,  and  five  pair 

will  remain. 

"  Twenty-five  pair  of  fowls — now  how 

tiresome  it  is 
That  I  can't  reckon  up  such  money 

as  this  ! 
Well  there's  no  use  in  trjring,  so  let's 

give  a  guess — 
I'll  say  twenty  pounds,  and  it  can't  be 

no  leas. 


"  Twenty  pounds,  I  am  certain,   will 

buy  me  a  cow. 
Thirty  geese   and   two  turkeys — eight         ■ 

pigs  and  a  sow  ;  " 

Now  if  these  turn  out  well,  at  the  end 

of  the  year, 
I    shall    fill     both   my    pockets    with 

guineas,  'tis  clear." 

Forgetting  her  burden,  when  this  she 

had  said, 
The  maid  superciliously  tossed  up  her 

head  ; 
When,    alas  !    for    her    prospects — her 

milk-pail  descended. 
And  so  all  her  schemes  for  the  future 

were  ended. 

This  moral,    I    think,    may    be   safely 

attached, — 
"  Reckon  not  on  your  chickens  before 

they  are  hatched." 

Jeffreys  Taylor. 


THE   LION"   AND   THE    MOUSE. 

A  LION  with  the  heat  oppress'd. 
One  day  composed  himself  to  rest ; 
But  whilst  he  dozed,  as  he  intended, 
A  mouse,  his  royal  back  ascended  ; 
Nor  thought  of  harm,  as  ^^sop  tells, 
Mistaking  him  for  someone  else  ; 
And  travell'd  over  him,  and  round  him, 
And  might  have  left  him  as  he  found 

him 
Had  he  not — tremble  when  you  hear — 
Tried  to  explore  the  monarch's  ear  ! 
Who    straightway    woke,    Avith    wrath 

immense. 
And  sliook  his  head  to  cast  him  thence. 
"  You  rascal,  what  are  you  about  ?  " 
Said  he,  when  he  had  turned  him  out. 
"  I'll  teach  you  soon,"   tlie  lion  said. 
"  To  make  a  mouse-hole  in  my  head  !  " 
So  saying,  he  prepared  his  foot 
To  crush  the  trembling  tiny  brute  ; 
But  he  (the  mouse)  with  tearful  eye. 
Implored  the  lion's  clemency. 
Who  thought  it  best  at  last  to  give 
Ilis  little  pris'ner  a  reprieve. 

'Twas   nearly   twelve   months   after 
this. 
The  lion  chanced  his  way  to  miss  ; 
Wlien  pressing  forward,  heedless  yet. 
He  got  entangled  in  a  net 


Fables  and   Riddles. 


131 


With   dreadful  rage,  he  stampt   and 

tore, 
And  straight  commenced  a  lordly  roar  ; 
When  the  poor  mouse,  who  heard  the 

noise. 
Attended,  for  she  knew  his  voice. 
Then  what  the  lion's  iitmost  strength 
Could  not  efifect,  she  did  at  length  ; 
With  patient  labour  she  applied 
Her  teeth,  the  network  to  divide ; 
^nd  so  at  last  forth  issued  he, 
A  lion,  by  a  mouse  set  free. 

Few  are  so  small  or  weak,  I  guess, 
But  may  assist  us  in  distress, 
Nor  shall  we  ever,  if  we're  wise, 
The  meanest,  or  the  least  despise. 

Jeffrei/s  Taylor. 


THE    YOTJN&    MOUSE. 

In  a  crack  near  a  cupboard,  with  dain- 
ties provided, 

A  certain  young  mouse  with  her  mother 
resided  ; 

So  securely  they  lived  on  that  fortunate 
spot. 

Any  mouse  in  the  land  might  have 
envied  their  lot. 

But  one  day  this  young  mouse,  who 

was  given  to  roam. 
Having  made  an  excursion  some  way 

from  her  home, 
On  a  sudden  return'd,  with  such  joy 

in  her  eyes, 
That  her  grey  sedate  parent  express'd 

some  surprise. 

"  0  mother  !  "  said  she,  "  the  good  folks 
of  this  house, 

I'm  convinced,  have  not  any  ill-will  to 
a  mouse. 

And  those  tales  can't  be  true  which  you 
alwavs  are  telling, 

For  they've  been  at  the  pains  to  con- 
struct us  a  dwelling. 

"  The  floor  is  of  wood,  and  the  walls 

are  of  wires, 
Exactly   the   size   that   one's   comfort 

requires  ; 
And  I'm  sure  that  we  should  there  have 

nothing  to  fear. 
If  ten  cat?  with  their  kittens  at  once 

should  appear. 


"  And  then  they  have  made  such  nice 

holes  in  tlie  walls. 
One   could   slip   in   and   out   with   no 

trouble  at  all, 
But  forcing  one  tlirough  such  crannies 

as  these. 
Always  gives  one's  poor  ribs  a  most 

terrible  squeeze. 

"  But  the  best  of  all  is,  they've  provided 

us  well. 
With  a  large  piece  of  cheese  of  most 

exquisite  smell, 
'Twas  so  nice,  I  had  put  my  head  in 

to  go  through. 
When  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  come  and 

fetch  you." 

"  Ah,     child  !  "     said     her     mother, 

"  believe,  I  entreat, 
Both  the  cage  and  the  cheese  are  a 

horrible  cheat. 
Do  not  think  all  that  trouble  they  took 

for  our  good  ; 
They  would    catch  us  and  kill  us  all 

there  if  they  could, 
As   they've   caught  and   killed   scores, 

and  I  never  could  learn 
That  a  mouse  who  once  enter'd,  did 

ever  return  !  " 

Let  the  young  people    mind  what  the 

old  people  say. 
And  when  danger  is  near  them,  keep 

out  of  the  way. 

Je/Jreys  Taylor, 


THE    MISER. 

FROM  THE  GREEK  ANTHOLOGY. 

A  isnsER,  traversing  his  house. 
Espied,  unusual  there,  a  mouse, 
And  thus  his  uninvited  guest. 
Briskly  inquisitive,  addressed  : 
"  Tell  me,  my  dear,  to  what  cause  is  it 
I  owe  this  unexpected  visit  ?  " 
The  mouse  her  hjst  obliquely  eyed. 
And,   smiling,   pleasantly  replied  : 
"  Fear    not,    good    fellow,    for    your 

hoard  ! 
I  come  to  lodge,  and  not  to  hoard  !  " 

William  Cowper. 

9* 


132 


Poems  for  Children. 


A   BOOK. 

I'm  a  new  contradiction  ;  I'm  new  and 

I'm  old, 
I'm  often  in  tatters,  and  oft  deck'd 

in  gold  : 
Though  I  never  could  read,  yet  letter'd 

I'm  found  ; 
Though    blind,    I    enlighten ;    though 

loose,  I  am  bound — 
I  am  always  in  black,  and  I'm  always 

in  white  ; 
I  am  grave  and  I'm  gay,  I  am  heavy 

and  light. 
In  form  too  I  difi'er— I'm  thick  and  I'm 

thin, 
I've  no  flesh,  and  no  bones,  yet  I'm 

cover'd  with  skin  ; 
I've    more  points  than  the    compass, 

more  stops  than  the  flute — 
I  sing  without  voice,  without  speaking 

confute  ; 
I'm  English,  I'm  German,  I'm  French 

and  I'm  Dutch  ; 
Some  love  me  too  fondly;   some  slight 

me  too  much  ; 
I  often  die  soon,  though  I  sometimes 

live  ages. 
And    no   monarch   alive  has   so   many 

pages. 

Uannah  More. 


A    RIDDLE. 

THE  VOWKI.S. 

We  are  little  airy  creatures. 
All  of  different  voice  and  features  : 
One  of  us  in  glass  is  set. 
One  of  us  you'll  find  in  jet. 
'J"other  you  may  see  in  tin. 
And  the  fourth  a  box  within. 
If  the  fifth  you  should  pursue, 
It  can  never  fly  from  you. 


JoiMthan  Swift. 


A  RIDDLE. 

THE  LETTER  "H." 

'TwAS    whispered     in     Heaven,  'twas 

muttered  in  hell. 
Our  echo  caught  faintly,  the  sound  as 

it  fell ; 


On  the  confines  of  earth,  'twas  per- 
mitted to  rest. 
And  the  depths  of  the  ocean  its  presence 

confess'd  ; 
'Twill  be  found  in  the  sphere  when  'tis 

riven  asunder. 
Be  seen  in  the  lightning,  and  heard  in 

the  thunder ; 
'Twas  allotted  to  man,  with  his  earliest 

breath. 
Attends  him  at  birth  and  awaits  him 

in  death. 
Presides  o'er  his  happiness,  honor  and 

health. 
Is  the  prop  of  his  house,  and  the  end  of 

his  wealth. 
In  the  heaps  of  the  miser  'tis  hoarded 

with  care, 
But  is  sure  to  be  lost  on  his  prodigal 

heir  ; 
It  begins   every  hope,   every  wish  it 

must  bound. 
With  the  husbandman  toils,  and  with 

monarchs    is    crowded  ; 
Without  it  the  soldier  and  seaman  may 

roam. 
But  woe  to  the  wretch  who  expels  it 

from  home  ! 
In  tlie  whispers  of  conscience  its  voice 

will  be  found. 
Nor  o'er  in  the  whirlwind   of  passion 

be  drowned  ; 
'Twill  soften  the   heart ;     but  thougli 

deaf  be  the  ear. 
It  will  make  it  acutely  and  instantly 

hear. 
Set  in  shade,  let  it  rest  like  a  delicate 

flower ; 
Ah  !  breathe  on  it  softly,  it  dies  in  an 

hour. 

Catktrina  J7.   Fanshawe. 


ABC. 

Oh,  thou  alphabetic  row, 
Fun  and  freedom's  early  foe  ; 
Shall  I  e'er  forget  the  primer. 
Or  the  teacher  Mrs.  Trimmer — 
Or  the  probleui  then  so  vasi. 
Whether  Z  was  first  or  last  ? 
All  pandora  had  for  me 
Was  emptied  forth  in  A  B  C. 

Curious  letters — single — double. 
Source  of  many  a  childish  trouble. 
How  I  strove  with  pouting  pain 
To  get  thee  quartord  on  my  brain 


Fables  and   Riddles. 


133 


But  when  the  giant  feat  was  done, 
How  noble  was  the  field  I'd  won  ! 
Wit,  wisdom,  reason,  rhyme — the  key 
To  all  their  wealth  but  ABC. 

Ye  really  ought  to  be  exempt 
From  slighting  taunt  and  cool  contempt 
But,  drinking  deep  from  learning's  cup 
We  scorn  the  hand  that  filled  it  up. 
Be  courteous,  pedants — stay  and  thank 
Your  servants  of  the  Roman  rank. 
For  F.  R.  S.  and  L.  L.  D. 
Can  only  follow  ABC. 

Eliza  Cook. 


And  smiling  E  the  ready  sprite, 
Said,  "  Yes,  and  count  me  double." 

This  done,  sweet  peace  shone  o'er  the 
scene. 
And  gone  was  all  the  trouble  ! 

Meanwhile,  when  U  and  P  made  up. 
The  cons'nanta  looked  about  them, 

And  kissed  the  vowels,  for,  you  see. 
They  couldn't  do  without  them. 


THE    liETTEBS    AT    SCHOOIi. 

One  day  the  letters  went  to  school. 
And  tried  to  teach  each  other. 

They  got  so  mixed,  'twas  really  hard 
To  pick  one  from  the  other. 

A  went  in  first,  and  Z  went  last ; 

The  rest  were  all  between  tliem, — 
K  L  and  M  and  N  0  P— 

I  wish  you  could  have  seen  them  ! 

B  C  D  E  and  J  K  L, 

Soon  jostled  well  their  betters  ; 
Q  R  S  T — I  grieve  to  say — 
Were  very  naughty  letters. 

Of  course,  ere  long  they  came  to  words — 
What  else  could  be  expected  I 

Till  E  made  D  J  C  and  T 
Decidedly  dejected. 

Now  through  it  all  the  consonants 
Were  rudest  and  uncouthest. 

While  all  the  pretty  vowel  girls 
Were  certainly  the  smoothest. 

And  nimble  U  kept  far  from  Q, 
With  face  demure  and  moral, 

"  Because,"  she  said,  "  we  are,  we  two, 
So  apt  to  start  a  quarrel !  " 

But   spiteful  P  said.  "  Pooh  for  U  [ " 
(Which  made  her  feel  quite  bitter). 

And,  calling  0  L  E  to  help. 
He  really  tried  to  hit  her. 

Cried  A,  "  Now,  E  and  C  come  here  I 

If  both  will  aid  a  minute. 
Good  P  will  join  in  making  peace  | 

Or  else  the  mischief's  in  it." 


TO  MY  GEAMMATICAIj 
NIECE. 

The  Nom'nntive  case  which  I  study's — 
"  A  Niece," 
Who  is  Genitive  ever  of  kindness  to 
nie  ; 
When  I'm  sad  she's  so  Dative  of  comfort 
and  peace. 
That    1    scarce    against    fate    can 
Accusative  be  ! 
O,  Friendship  (this    Vocative    most    I 
prefer), 
Makes    my    case    always    Ablative, 
"  by  and  with  her." 

Your  Mother's  a   Verb  from  Anomaly 
free. 
Though  Indicative  always  of  learning 
and  sense. 
In  all  of  her  moods  she's  Potential  o'er 
me. 
And  the  Perfect  is  still  her  invariable 
Tense  ! 
Though  Passive  in  temper,  most  active 
in  spirit, 
And  we  are  Deponents — who  swear 
to  her  merit  \ 

For  a  Syntax  like  that  which  unites 

her  and  you 
Through  folios  of  Orammar  in  vain 

we  may  seek ; 
As  in  Gender,  in  Number  your  Concord's 

most  true. 
For  as  Mother  and  Daughter,  you  both 

are — Unique. 
And  in  goodness  to  all,  as  in  kindness 

to  me  ! 
You  both,  in  aU  cases,  are  sure  to  agree  I 


134 


Poems   for  Children. 


From  Prosodta,  perhaps  I  might  learn 

(if  I  tried,) 
"  To  scan  my  own  many  defects," 

(Vide  Gray  )  ; 
But  in  vain  are  all  metrical  rules  when 

applied 
To  charms  which  both  Mother  and 

Daughter  display. 
For    who    could    e'er   learn,    with    all 

labour  and  leisure. 
To  scan  what  are  quite  without  number 

and  measure  ! 

Hon.  William  Robert  Spencer. 


Now  rarely  raised  her  sober  eye 
To  view  the  golden  distance : 

Nor  let  one  idle  minute  fly 

In  hope  of  t hen's  assistance  ; 

But  still,  witli  busy  hands,  she  stood. 

Intent  on  doing  present  good. 

She  ate  the  sweet  but  homely  fare 
That  passing  moments  brought  her ; 

While  THKN,  expecting  dainties  rare, 
Despised  such  bread  and  water  ; 

And  waited  for  the  fruits  and  flowers 

Of  future,  still  receding  hours. 


NOW  A.ND  THEN. 

In  distant  days  of  wild  romance. 

Of  magic  mist  and  fable. 
When  stones  could  argue,  trees  advance. 

And  brutes  to  talk  were  able  ; 
When  shrubs  and  flowers  were  said  to 

preach. 
And  manage  all  the  parts  of  speech  ; — 
'Twas  then,  no  doubt,  if  'twas  at  dll, 

(But  doubts  we  need  not  mention,) 
That    THEN    and    now,    two    adverbs 
small. 

Engaged  in  sharp  contention  ; 
But  bow  they  made  each  other  hear, 
Tradition  doth  not  make  appear. 

Then  was  a  sprite  of  subtle  frame, 
With  rainbow  tints  invested. 

On  clouds  of  dazzling  light  she  came. 
And  stars  her  forehead  crested  ; 

Her  sparkling  eye  of  azure  hue 

Seemed  borrowed  from  the  distant  blue. 

Now  rested  on  the  solid  earth, 

And  sober  was  her  vesture  ; 
She  seldom  either  grief  or  mirth 

Expressed  by  word  or  gesture  ; 
Composed,  sedate,  and  firm  she  stood. 
And    looked    industrious,    calm,    and 
good. 

Then  sang  a  wild,  fantastic  song. 
Light  as  the  gale  she  flies  on  ; 

Still  stretching,  as  she  sailed  along 
Towards  the  fair  horizon. 

Where  clouds  of  radiance,  fringed  with 
gold. 

O'er  hills  of  emerald  beauty  rolled. 


Now,  venturing  once  to  ask  her  why, 
She  answered  with  invective  ; 

And  pointed  as  she  made  reply, 
Towards   that   long   perspective 

Of  years  to  come,  in  distant  blue. 

Wherein  she  meant  to  live  and  do. 


"  Alas  !  "   says   she,    "  how   hard   you 
toil. 

With  undiverted  sadness  ! 
Behold  yon  land  of  wine  and  oil — 

Those  sunny  hills  of  gladness  ; 
Those  joj's  I  wait  -with  eager  brow  " — 
"  And  so  you  always  will,"  said  NOW. 

"  That  fairy  land  that  looks  so  real, 
Recedes  as  you  pursue  it ; 

Thus  while  you  wait  for  times  ideal, 
I  take  my  work  and  do  it ; 

Intent  to  form,  when  time  is  gone, 

A  pleasant  past  to  look  upon." 

"  Ah,  well,"  said  then,  "  I  envy  not 
Your  dull  fatiguing  labours  ; 

Aspiring  to  a  brighter  lot. 

With  thousands  of  my  neighbours  ; 

Soon  as  I  reach  that  golden  hill  " — 

"  But  that,"   says  now,   "  you  never 
will." 

"  And  e'en  suppose  you  should,"  said 
she, 
"  (Though  mortal  ne'er  attained  it,) 
Your  nature  you   must    change    with 
me. 
The  moment  you  had  gained  it : 
Since  hope  fulfilled,  you  must  allow. 
Turns  now  to  then,  and  then  to  now." 

Jane   Taylor. 


Fables  and   Riddles. 


135 


HOW-D'-Y'-DO  AND  GOOD-BYE. 

One  day,  Good-bye  met  How-d'-y'-do, 

Too  close  to  shun  saluting, 
But  soon  the  rival  sisters  flew. 

From  kissing  to  disputing. 

"  Away  !  "  says  How-d'-y'-do,  "  your 
mien 

Appals  my  cheerful  nature  ; 
No  name  so  sad  as  yours  is  seen 

In  Sorrow's  nomenclature. 

"  Where'er  I  give  one  sunshine  hour, 
Your  cloud  comes  o'er  to  shade  it ; 

Whene'er  I  plant  one  bosom  flower. 
Your  mildew  drops  to  fade  it. 

"  Ere  How-d'-y'-do  has  tun'd  each 
tongue 

To  Hope's  delightful  measure  ; 
Good-bye  in  Friendsliip's  ear  is  sung. 

The  knell  of  parting  pleasure  ! 

"  From  sorrow's  past,  my  chemic  skill 
Draws  smiles  of  consolation, 

While  you  from  present  joys  distil 
The  tears  of  separation." — 

Good-bye  replied,  "  Your  statement's 
true. 

And  well  your  cause  you've  pleaded  ; 
But  pray  who'd  think  of  How-d'-y'-do, 

Unless  Good-bye  preceded  ? 

"  Without  my  prior  influence. 
Could  yours  have  ever  flourished  ; 

And  can  your  hand  one  flower  dispense 
But  those  my  teare  have  nourish'd  ? 

"  How  oft,  if  at  the  court  of  Love, 
Concealment  be  the  fashion. 

When  How-d'-y'-do  has  failed  to  move. 
Good-bye  reveals  the  passion. 

"  How  oft,  ■when  Cupid's  fires  decline, 
As  every  heart  remembers, 

One  sigh  of  mine,  and  only  mine. 
Revives  the  dying  embers. 

"  Go  bid  the  timid  lover  choose. 
And  I'll  resign  my  charter  ; 

If  he,  for  ten  kind  How-d'-y'-do's, 
One  kind  Good-bye  would  barter. 


"  From  Love  and  Friendship's  kindred 

source 
We  both  derive  existence. 
And  they  would  both  lose  half  their 

force. 
Without  our  joint  assistance. 

"  'Tis  well  the  world  our  merit  knows. 
Since  time  there's  no  denying. 

One  half  in  How-d'-y'-doing  goes, 
And  t'other  in  Good-byeing." 

Hon.  William  Robert  Spencer. 


DISPTJTE    BETWEEN  NOSE 
AND   EYES. 

Between    Nose  and    Eyes  a  strange 
contest  arose. 
The  spectacles  set  them  unhappily 
WTong  ; 
The  point  in  dispute  was,  as  all  the 
world  knows, 
To  which  the  said  spectacles  ought 
to  belong. 

So  Tongue  was  the  lawyer,  and  argued 
the  cause 
With  a  great  deal  of  skill,  and  a  wig 
full  of  learning. 
While  chief  Baron  Ear,  sat  to  balance 
the  laws. 
So  famed   for  his   talent,   in  nicely 
discerning. 

"  In  behalf  of  the  nose,  it  will  quickly 
appear. 
And  your  lordship,"  he  said,  "  will 
undoubtedly  find 
That    the    Nose    has     had    spectacles 
always  in  wear. 
Which  amounts  to  possession, — time 
out  of  mind." 

Then  holding  the  Spectacles  up  to  the 
court — 
"  Your   lordsliip   observes   they  are 
made  with  a  straddle, 
As  wide  as  the  ridge  of  the  Nose  is — in 
short. 
Designed  to  sit  close  to  it,  just  like 
a  saddle. 


136 


Poems  for  Children. 


"  Again,  would  your  lordship  a  moment 
suppose 
('Tis  a  case  that  has  happened,  and 
may  be  again). 
That  tlie  visage  or  countenance  had 
not  a  nose. 
Pray  who  would,  or  who  could,  wear 
spectacles  then  ? 

"  On   the   whole  it  appears,   and   my 
argument  shows 
With    a    reasoning,    the    court    will 
never  condemn. 
That  the  spectacles  plainly  were  made 
for  the  nose. 
And    the    nose    was    as    plainly    in- 
tended for  them." 

Then   shifting   his   side   (as   a   lawyer 
knows  how) 
He  pleaded  again  in  behalf  of  the 
Eyes  ; 
But    what    were    his    arguments    few 
people  know. 
For   the   court  did   not  think   they 
were  equally  wise. 

So  his  lordship  decreed  with  a  grave 
solemn  tone. 

Decisive  and  clear,  without  one  "if" 
or  "  but," 
That,    whenever    the    Nose    put    his 
spectacles  on. 
By  day-light  or  candle-light,   Eyes 
should  be  shut. 

William  Cowper, 


.If  Peter  Piper  picked  a  peck  of  pickled 

pepper, 
Where's   the   peck   of  pickled   pepper 

Peter  Piper  picked  ? 


When  a  Twister  a  twisting  will  twist 

him  a  twist ; 
For  the  twisting  of  his  twist,  he  tiiree 

times  doth  intwist ; 
But  if  one  of  the  twines  of  the  twist  do 

untwist. 
The  twme  that  untwisteth,  untwistetli 

the  twine. 

Untwirling  the  twine  that  untwistetli 

between. 
He  twirls,  with  the  twister,  the  two  in 

a  twine. 
Then  twice  having  twisted  tlie  twines 

of  the  twine 
He  twisteth  the  twine  he  had  twined 

in  twain. 

The  twain  that  in  twining,  before  in 

the  twine. 
As   twines   were    intwisted ;     he   now 

doth  untwine  ; 
'Twixt  the  twain  inter-twisting  a  twine 

more  between. 
He  twirling  his  twister,  makes  a  twist 

of  the  twine. 


Peter  Piper  picked  a  peck  of  pickled 

pepper ; 
A  peck  of  pickled  pepper  Peter  Piper 

picked  i 


A  CANDIiB. 

Little  Nanny   Etticoat, 
In    a    white    petticoat, 
And  a  red  nose  ; 
The  longer  she  stands 
The  shorter  she  grows. 


Part  II. 


THE  SEASONS. 


HARK,    HARK   THE    LARK. 

Hark  !  hark  !  the  lark  at  Heaven's  gate 
sings, 
x\nd  i'hoebus*  'gins  arise, 
His  steeds  to  water  at  those  springs 
■  On  chalic'd  flowers  that  lies. 

And  winking  Mary-buds  begin 

To  ope  their  golden  eyes  ; 
Witli  everything  that  pretty  bin : 

My  lady  sweet,  arise  ; 

Arise,  arise. 

William  Shakespeare. 


Up  !   maiden  fair,  and  bind  thy  hair. 
And  rouse  thee  in  the  breezy  air  ; 
The    lulling    stream  tliat  soothed  thy 

dream 
Is  dancing  in  the  sumiy  beam  ; 
Waste  not  these  hours,  so  fresh,  so  gay. 
Leave  thy  soft  couch  and  haste  away. 

Up  !    time  will  tell,  the  morning  bell 
Its  service-sound  has  chimed  well ; 
The  aged  crone  keeps  house  alone. 
The  reapers  to  the  fields  are  gone. 
Lose  not  these  hours,  so  cool,  so  gay, 
Lo !    wliilat    thou    sleep'st  they  haste 
away. 

Joanna  Baillie. 


THE  YEAR'S  AT  THE  SPRINQ. 

The  year's  at  the  spring, 
The  day's  at  the  morn  ; 
Morning's  at  seven  ; 
The  hill-side's  dew  pearled  ; 
The  lark's  on  the  wing  ; 
The  snail's  on  the  thorn ; 
God's  in  His  heaven — 
All's  right  with  the  world  } 

Robert  Browning. 


GOOD  MORNING. 

Up  !    quit   thy   bower,  late    wears  the 

hour. 
Long  have  the  rooks  cawed  round  the 

tower ; 
O'er  flower  and  tree  loud  hums  the  bee. 
And  the  wild-kid  sporta  merrily : — 
The  sun  is  bright,  the  skies  are  clear  ; 
Wake,  lady  !   wake,  and  hasten  here. 

•  Phoebus— The  Sun. 


MORNING. 

Haste  thee,  nymph,  and  bring  with  thee 

Jest  and  youthful  jollity. 

Quips  and  cranks,  and  wanton  wiles. 

Nods  and  becks,  and  wreathed  smiles. 

Such  as  hang  on  Hebe's  cheek. 

And  love  to  live  in  dimple  sleek  ; 

Sport  that  wrinkled  care  derides. 

And  Laughter  holding  both  his  sides. 

Come  and  trip  it  as  you  go 

On  the  light  fantastic  toe ; 

And  in  the  right  hand  lead  with  thee 

The  mountain  nymph,  sweet  Liberty  ; 

And  if  I  give  thee  honor  due. 

Mirth,  admit  me  of  thy  crew. 

To  live  with  her,  and  hie  with  thee. 

In  unreproved  pleasures  free  ; 

To  hear  the  lark  begin  his  flight,  . 

And  singing  startle  the  dull  night. 

From  his  watch-tower  in  the  skies. 

Till  the  dappled  da\vn  doth  rise  ; 

Then  to  come  in  spite  of  sorrow. 

And  at  my  window  bid  good- morrow. 


140 


Poems  for  Children. 


Through  the  sweet-briar  or  the  vine, 
Or  the  twisted  eglantine  : 
While  the  cock  with  lively  din 
Scatters  the  rear  of  darkness  thin, 
And  to  the  stack,  or  the  barn-door. 
Stoutly  struts  his  dames  before. 

John  Milton. 


THE    MORNING   MIST. 

Look,  William,  how  the  mormng  mists 
Have  covered  all  the  scene, 

Nor  house  nor  hill  canst  thou  behold 
Grey  wood,  or  meadow  green. 

The  distant  spire  across  the  vale 
These  floating  vapours  shroud. 

Scarce   are   the   neighbouring   poplars 
seen 
Pale  shadowed  in  the  cloud. 

But   seest   thou,    William,  where  the 

mists 
Sweep  o'er  the  southern  sky, 
The  dim  effulgence  of  the  sim 
That  lights  them  as  they  fly  ? 

Soon  shall  that  glorious  orb  of  day 

In  all  his  strength  arise. 
And  roll  along  his  azure  way, 

Through  clear  and  cloudless  skies. 

Then  shall  we  see  across  the  vale 

The  village  spire  so  white. 
And  the  grey  wood  and  meadows  green 

Shall  live  again  in  light. 

Robert  Southey. 


NOONTIDE. 

The  shepherd  boy  lies  on  the  hill 
At  noon  with  upward  eye  ; 

Deep  on  his  gaze  and  deeper  still 
Ascends  the  clear  blue  sky. 

You  pass  him  by,  and  deem   perchance 

He  lies  but  half  awake. 
And  picture  in  what  airy  trance 

His  soul  may  sport  or  ache. 

Full  wakeful  he,  both  eye  and  heart, 

For  he  a  cloud  hath  seen 
Into  that  waste  of  air  depart. 

As  bark  in  ocean  green. 

John  Keble. 


EVENING. 
Oh,  Hesperus  !   thou  bringest  all  good 
things — 
Home  to  the  weary,  to  the  hungry 
cheer. 
To  the  young  bird  the  parent's  brood- 
ing wings. 
The    welcome    stall    to    the    o'er- 
laboured  steer  ! 
Whate'er  of  peace  about  ova  hearth- 
stone clings, 
Whate'er   our  household   gods   pro- 
tect of  dear. 
Are  gathered  round  us  by  thy  look  of 

rest ; 
Thou  bring'st  the  child,   too,   to   the 
mother's  breast. 

Soft  hour  !   which  wakes  the  wish  and 

melts  the  heart 
Of  those  who  sail  the  seas,  on  the 

first  day 
When   they   from  their  sweet  fi-iends 

are  torn  apart 
Or  fills  with  love  the  pilgiim  on  his 

way, 
As  the  far  bell  of  vesper  makes  him 

start. 
Seeming   to   weep   the   dying   day's 

decay ; 
Is  this  a  fancy  which  our  reason  scorns  ? 
Ah,  surely  nothing  dies  but  something 

mourns  i 

Lord  Byron, 


THE  DAY  IS  PAST. 

The  day  is  past,  the  sun  is  set, 

And  the  white  stars  are  in  the  sky  ; 

While  the  lon^  grass  witli  dew  is  wet. 
And  through  the  air  the  bats  now 

fly. 

The  lambs   have   now  lain   do^\'n   to 
sleep, 
The   birds   have   long   since   sought 
their  nests ; 
The  air  is  still :   and  dark  and  deep 
On  the  hill  side  the  old  wood  rests. 

Yet  of  the  dark  I  have  no  fear, 
But  feel  as  safe  as  when  'tis  light ; 

For  I  know  God  is  with  me  there, 
And  He  will  guard  me  through  the 
night. 


The  Seasons. 


141 


For  God  is  by  me  wlieu  I  pray 
And    when    I    close    mine   eyea    in 
sleep, 

I  know  tliat  He  will  with  me  stay. 
And  will  all  night  watch  by  me  keep. 

For  He  who  rules  the  stars  and  sea. 
Who  makes  the  grass  and  trees  to 
grow. 

Will  look  on  a  poor  child  like  me, 
When  on  my  knees  I  to  Him  bow. 

He  holds  all  things  in  His  right  hand, 
The  rich,   the  poor,   the  great,   the 
small ; 

When  we  sleep,  or  sit,  or  stand. 
Is  with  U3,  for  He  loves  us  all. 

Thomas  Miller. 


NIOHT  IN  THE  DESERT. 

How  beautiful  is  night ! 
A  de^vy  freshness  fills  the  silent  air ; 
No  mist  obscures,  nor  cloud,  nor  speck, 
nor  stain, 

Breaks  the  serene  of  heaven. 
In  full-orb'd  glory  yonder  moon  divine 

Rolls  through  the  dark-blue  depths. 

Beneath  her  steady  ray 

The  desert-circle  spreads, 
Like  the  round  ocean,  girdled  with  tho 
sky. 

How  beautiful  is  night  I 

Bobert  SoiUhey. 


They  look  in  every  thoughtless  nest. 

Where  birds  are  cover'd  warm  ; 
They  visit  caves  of  every  beast. 
To  keep  them  all  from  harm. 
If  they  see  any  weeping 
That  should  have  been  sleeping. 
They  pour  sleep  on  their  head. 
And  sit  down  by  their  bed. 

Wlien  wolves  and  tigers  howl  for  prey 
They  pitying  stand  and  weep, 

Seeking  to  drive  their  thirst  away, 
And  keep  them  from  the  aheep. 

But  if  they  rush  dreadful. 

The  angels  most  heedful 

Receive  each  wild  spirit* 

New  worlds  to  inherit. 

And  there  the  lion's  ruddy  eyes 
Shall  flow  with  tears  of  gold, 

And  pitying  the  tender  cries. 
And  walking  round  the  fold. 

Saying,  "  Wrath,  by  his  meekness 

And  by  his  health,  sickness 

Is  driven  away 

From  our  immortal  day. 

"  And  now  beside  thee,  bleating  lamb, 

I  can  lie  down  and  sleep  ; 
Or  think  on  him  who  bore  thy  name, 

Graze  after  thee,  and  weep. 
For,  wash'd  in  life's  river. 
My  bright  mane  for  ever 
Shall  shine  like  the  gold 
As  I  guard  o'er  the  fold." 

William  Blake. 


NIGHT. 

The  sun  descending  in  the  west. 
The  evening  star  does  shine  ; 

The  birds  are  silent  in  their  nest, 
And  I  must  seek  for  mine. 

The  moon,  like  a  flower. 

In  heaven's  high  bower. 

With  silent  delight 

Sits  and  suules  on  the  night. 

Farewell,  green  fields  and  happy  groves. 
Where  the  flocks  took  delight ; 

Where  lambs  have  nibbled,  silent  moves 
The  feet  of  angels  bright. 

Unseen  they  pour  blessing. 

And  joy  without  ceasing. 

On  each  bud  and  blossom 

And  each  sleeping  bosom. 


GOOD-NIGHT. 

The  sun  is  down,  and  time  gone  by. 
The  stars  are  twinkling  in  the  sky, 
Nor  torch  nor  taper  longer  may 
Eke  out  a  blithe  but  stinted  day  ; 
The  hours  have  passed  with  stealthy 

flight. 
We    needs    must    part :      good-night, 

good-night } 

The  lady  in  her  ciurtained  bed. 
The  herdsman  in  his  wattled  shed. 
The  clansmen  in  the  heathered  haU 
Sweet  sleep  be  with  you,  one  and  all  ! 
We  part  in  hopes  of  days  as  bright 
As  this  gone  by :    good-night,  good- 
night 1 


142 


Poems  for  Children. 


Sweet  sleep  be  with  W3,  one  and  all ! 
And  if  upon  its  stillness  fall 
The  visions  of  a  busy  brain. 
We'll  have  our  pleasures  o'er  again. 
To  warm  the  heart,  to  charm  the  sight, 
Gay  dreams  to  all  !    good-night,  good- 
night J 

Joanna  BailUe. 


HYMM"  TO   THE   NTGHT. 

I  HEABD  the  trailing  garments  of  the 
Night 
Sweep  through  the  marble  halls  ' 
I  saw  her  sable  skirts  all  fringed  with 
light 
From  the  celestial  walls  ! 

I    felt   her   presence,    by   its   spell   of 
might, 
Stoo])  o'er  me  from  above  ; 
The    calm    majestic    presence    of    the 
Night, 
As  of  the  one  I  love. 

I    heard    the   sounds    of   sorrow    and 
delight. 
The  manifold,  soft  chimes. 
That  fill  the  haunted  chambers  of  the 
Night, 
Like  some  old  poet's  rhymes. 


HYMN  TO  THE  NOBTH  STAB. 

The  sad  and  solemn  Night 

Has  yet  her  multitude  of  cheerful 

fires  ; 
The  glorious  host  of  light 

Walk  the  dark  hemisphere  till  she 

retires ; 
All  through  her  silent  watches,  gliding 

slow, 
Her  constellations  come,  and  chmb  the 

heavens,  and  go. 

Day,  too,  hath  many  a  star 

To  grace  his  gorgeous  reign,  as  bright 
as  they : 
Through  the  blue  fields  afar. 

Unseen,  they  follow  in  his  flaming 
way; 
Many   a   bright   lingerer,    as   the   eve 

grows  dim. 
Tells  what  a  radiant  troop  arose  and 
set  with  him. 


And  thou  dost  see  them  rise. 

Star  of  the  Pole  !   and  thou  dost  see 

them  set. 
Alone  in  thy  cold  skies. 

Thou    keep'st    thy    old,    unmoving 

station  yet. 
Nor  join'st  the  dances  of  that  glittering 

train,  .-^, 

Nor  dipp'st  thy  virgin  orb  in  the  blue       ^ 

western  main. 


From  the  cool  cisterns  of  the  midnight 
air 
My  spirit  drank  repose  ; 
The  fountain  of  perpetual  peace  flows 
there, — 
From  those  deep  cisterns  flows. 

0  holy  Night !  from  thee  I  learn  to  bear 
What  man  has  borne  before  ! 

Thou  layeat  thy  finger  on  the  Ups  of 
Care, 
And  they  complain  no  more. 

Peace  !    Peace  !    Orestes-like  I  breathe 
this  prayer  ! 
Descend  with  broad-winged  flight. 
The  welcome,  the  thrice-prayed  for,  the 
most  fair. 
The  best-loved.  Night ! 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


There,  at  morn's  rosy  birth. 

Thou   lookest   meekly   through    the 
kindling  air. 

And  eve,  that  round  the  earth 

Chases  the  day,  beholds  thee  watch- 
ing there ; 

There  noontide  finds  thee,  and  the  hour 
that  calls 

The   shapes   of   polar   flame   to   scale 
heaven's  azure  walls. 

Alike,  beneath  thine  eye. 

The  deeds  of  darkness  and  of  light 
are  done ; 
High  towards  the  starlit  sky 
Towns    blaze — the   smoke  of   battle 
blots  the  sun — 
The  nightstorm  on  a  thousand  hills  is 

loud — 
And  the  strong  wind  of  day  doth  mingle 
sea  and  cloud. 


The  Seasons. 


143 


On  thy  un  Itering  blaze 

Tlie  lialf- wrecked  mariner,  his  com- 
pass lost, 

Fixes  his  steady  gaze. 

And     steers,     undoubting,     to     the 
friendly  coast : 

And  they  who  stray  in  perilous  wastes 
by  night, 

Are  glad  when  thou  dost  shine  to  guide 
their  footsteps  right. 

And,  therefore,  bards  of  old. 

Sages,   and   hermits   of   the   solemn 
wood. 
Did  in  thy  beams  behold 

A  beauteous  type  of  that  unchanging 
good. 
That  bright  eternal  beacon,  by  whose 

ray 
The  voyager  of  time  should  shape  his 
heedful  way. 

William  Cullen  Bryant. 


I 


THE   STARS. 

They  glide  upon  their  endless  way, 
For  ever  calm,  for  ever  bright. 

No  blind  hurry,  no  delay, 

Mark  the  Daugliters  of  the  Night : 

They  follow  in  the  track  of  Day, 
In  divine  delight. 

And  oh  '    how  still  beneath  the  stars 
Tlic  once  wild,  noisy  Earth  doth  lie  ; 

As  though  she  now  forsook  her  jai-s, 
And  caught  the  quiet  of  the  sky. 

Pride  sleeps  ;    and  Love  (with  all  his 
scars) 
In  smiling  dreams  doth  he. 

Shine  on,  sweet  orbed  souls,  for  aye. 
For  ever  calm,  for  ever  bright  : 

W'a  a.sk  not  whither  lies  your  way. 
Nor    whence    ye    came,    nor    what 
your  light. 

Be,  still, — a  dream  throughout  the  day, 
A  blessing  through  the  night! 

Barry  Cornwall. 


THE   LIGHT   OF    STARS 

I  The  night  is  come,  but  not  too  soon  ; 

'  And  sinking  silently, 

I  All  silently,  the  little  moon 

I  Drops  down  behind  the  sky. 


There  is  no  light  in  eartli  or  heaven, 
But  the  cold  light  of  stars  ; 

And  the  first  watch  of  night  is  given 
To  the  red  planet  Mars. 

Is  it  the  tender  star  of  love  ? 

The  star  of  love  and  dreams  T 
O  no  !   from  that  blue  tent  above, 

A  hero's  armour  gleams. 

And  earnest  thoughts  within  me  rise. 

When  I  behold  afar, 
Suspended  in  the  evening  skies. 

The  shield  of  that  red  star. 

0  star  of  strength  !  I  see  thee  stand 
And  smile  upon  my  pain  ; 

Thou  beckonest  with  thy  mailed  hand. 
And  I  am  strong  again. 

Within  my  breast  there  is  no  light. 
But  the  cold  light  of  stars  ; 

1  give  the  first  watch  of  the  night 
To  the  red  planet  Mars. 

The  star  of  the  unconquered  will, 

He  rises  in  my  breast. 
Serene,  and  resolute,  and  still. 

And  calm,  and  self-possessed. 

And  thou,  too,  whosoe'er  thou  art 
That  readest  this  brief  psalm. 

As  one  by  one  thy  hopes  depart, 
Be  resolute  and  calm. 

0,  fear  not,  in  a  world  like  this. 
And  thou  shalt  know  ere  long. 

Know  how  sublime  a  thing  it  is. 
To  suffer  and  be  strong. 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


THE    GLADNESS  OF  NATURE 

Is  tills  a  time  to  be  cloudy  and  sad. 
When    our    mother    Nature    laughs 
around. 
And  even  the  deep  blue  heavens  look 
glad, 
And    gladness     breathes     from     tlie 
blossoming  ground  ? 

Tliere  are  notes  of  joy  from  the  hang- 
bird  and  wien, 
And  the  gossip  of  swallows  through 
all  the  sky ; 


144 


Poems  for  Children. 


The  ground-squirrel  gaily  chirps  by  his 
den, 
And  the   wilding  bee  hums  merrily 

by. 

The  clouds  are  at  play  in  the  azure 
space. 
And  their  shadows  at  play  on  the 
bright  green  vale. 
And   here   they   stretch   to   the   frolic 
chase, 
And  there  they  roll  on  the  easy  gale. 

There's  a  dance  of  leaves  in  that  aspen 
bower, 
There's   a   titter   of   winds   in   that 
beechen  tree, 
There's  a  smile  on  the  fruit,  and  a  smile 
on  the  flower. 
And  a  laugh  from  the  brook  that  runs 
to  the  sea. 

And  look  at  the  broad-faced  sun,  how 
he  smiles 
On  the  dewy  earth  that  smil&s  in  his 
ray, 
On  the  leaping  waters  and  gay  young 
isles ; 
Ay,  look,  and  he'll  smile  thy  gloom 
away. 

WiUiam  Cnllen  Bryant. 


JOY  OF   LIFE. 

The   sun   is   careering    in    glory    and 

might, 
'Mid  the  deep  blue  sky  and  the  clouds 

so  bright ; 
The  billow  is  tossing  its  foam  on  higli, 
And  the  summer  breezes  go  lightly  by  ; 
The  air  and  the  water  dance,  glitter, 

and  play — 
And  why  should  not  I  be  as  merry  as 

they? 

The  linnet  is  singing   the  wild   wood 

through. 
The   fawn's   bounding   footsteps   skim 

over  the  dew. 
The  butterfly  flits  round  the  blossoming 

tree, 
And  the  cowslip  and  blue-bell  are  bent 

by  the  bee  : 
All   the  creatures   that   dwell   in   the 

forest  are  gay, 
And  why  shouFd  not  I  be  as  merry  as 

they? 

Misa  Mitford. 


THE  CliOtTD. 

"  I  BEING  fresh  showers  for  the  thirst- 
ing flowers. 
From  the  seas  and  the  streams  ; 
I  bear  light  shades  for  the  leaves  when 
laid 
In  their  noon-day  dreams  ; 
From  my  wings  are  shaken  the  dews 
that  waken 
The  sweet  birds  every  one, 
When  rocked  to  rest  on  their  mother's 
breast. 
As  she  dances  in  the  sun. 
I  wield  the  flail  of  the  lashing  hail, 

And  whiten  the  green  plains  under  ; 
And  then  again  I  dissolve  it  in  rain. 
And  laugh  as  I  pass  in  thunder. 

I  sift  the  snow  on  the  mountains  below. 
And  their  great  pines  groan  aghast ; 
And  all  the  night  'tis  my  piUow  white. 
While   I  sleep   in   the  arms  of  the 
l>last. 
Sublime  on  the   towers  of  my  skyey 
bowers. 
Lightning,  my  pilot,  sits  ; 
In    a    cavern    under    is    fettered    the 
thunder — 
It  struggles  and  howls  by  fits. 
Over   earth    and    ocean,    with    gentle 
motion. 
This  pilot  is  guiding  me, 
Lured  by  the  love  of  the  genii  that 
move 
In  the  depths  of  the  purple  sea  ; 
Over  the  rills,  and  the  crags,  and  tlio 
hills. 
Over  the  lakes  and  the  plains, 
Wherever  he  dream,  under  mountain  or 
stream, 
The  spirit  he  loves  remains  ; 
And  I,  all  the  while,  bask  in  heaven 
blue  smile, 
WJiilst  he  is  dissolving  in  rains. 

The  sanguine  sunrise,  with  his  meteor 
eyes. 
And  his  burning  plumes  outspread 
Leaps    on     the    back    of    my    sailing 
rack. 
When  the  morning-star  shines  dead  ; 
As  on  the  jag  of  a  mountain  crag, 
Which    an    earthquake    rocks    and 
swings. 
An  eagle,  alit,  one  moment  may  sit. 
In  the  light  of  its  golden  wings. 


The  Seasons. 


145 


And  when  sunaet  may  breathe,  from 
the  Ht  sea  beneath, 
Its  ardours  of  rest  and  love. 
And     the   crimson   pall   of    eve    may 
fall 
From  the  depths  of  heaven  above, 
With  wings  folded  I  rest,  on  mine  aiiy 
nest. 
As  still  as  a  brooding  dove. 


That   orb^d   maiden,   with   white   fire 
"     laden. 

Whom  mortals  call  the  moon. 
Glides  glimmering  o'er  my  fleece-like 
floor. 
By  the  midnight  breezes  strewn ; 
And  wherever  the  beat  of  her  unseen 
feet. 
Which  only  the  angels  hear. 
May  have  broken  the  woof  of  my  tent's 
tliin  roof. 
The  stars  peep  behind  her  and  peer  ! 
And  I  laugh  to  see  them  whirl  and 
flee. 
Like  a  swarm  of  golden  bees, 
When  I  widen  the  rent  in  my  wind- 
built  tent. 
Till  the  calm  rivers,  lakes,  and  seas, 
Like   strips  of  the  sky  fallen  through 
me  on  higli. 
Are  each  paved  with  the  moon  and 
these. 


I  bind  the  sun's  throne  with  a  burning 
zone. 
And   the   moon's   with   a   girdle   of 
pearl ; 
The  volcanoes  are  dim,  and  the  stars 
reel  and  swim, 
When  the  whirlwinds  my  banners  un- 
furl. 
From  cape  to  cape,  with  a  bridge-like 
shape 
Over  a  torrent  sea. 
Sunbeam  proof,  I  hang  Uke  a  roof, 

The  mountains  its  columns  be. 
The  triumphal  arch  through  which  I 
march 
With  hiurricane,  fire,  and  snow, 
When  the  powers  of  the  air  are  chained 
to  my  chair, 
Is  the  million-coloured  bow ; 
The  sphere-fire  above  its  soft  colours 
wove. 
While  the    moist    air  was  laughing 
below. 


I  am  the  daughter  of  earth  and  water, 

And  the  nursling  of  the  sky  ; 
I  pass  through  the  pores  of  the  ocean 
and  shores ; 
I  change,  but  I  camiot  die  : 
For,  after  the  rain,  when,  with  never  a 
stain. 
The  pavilion  of  heaven  is  bare. 
And   the   winds   and   sunbeams,    with 
their  convex  gleams. 
Build  up  the  blue  dome  of  air, 
I  silently  laugh  at  my  own  cenotaph, 

And  out  of  the  caverns  of  rain, 
Like  a  child  from  the  womb,   like  a 
ghost  from  the  tomb, 
I  arise  and  unbuild  it  again." 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley. 


THE  WATEB  !   THE  WATER  ! 

The  Water  !    the  Water  ! 

The  joyous  brook  for  me. 
That  tuneth  through  the  quiet  night 

Its  ever-living  glee. 
The  Water  !   the  Water  ! 

That  sleepless,  merry  heart. 
Which  gurgles  on  unstintedly. 

And  loveth  to  impart 
To  all  around  it,  some  small  measure 
Of  its  own  most  perfect  pleasure. 

The  Water  !   the  Water  ! 

The  gentle  stream  for  me, 
That  gushes  from  the  old  grey  stone 

Beside  the  alder- tree. 
The  Water  !    the  Water  ! 

That  ever-bubbling  spring 
I  loved  and  look'd  on  while  a  child. 

In  deepest  wondering, — 
And  ask'd  it  whence  it  came  and  went. 
And  when  its  treasures  would  be  spent. 

The  Water  !    the  Water  ! 

The  merry  wanton  brook 
That  bent  itself  to  pleasure  me. 

Like  mine  old  shepherd  crook. 
The  Water  !    the  Water  | 

That  sang  so  sweet  at  noon, 
And  sweeter  still  all  night,  to  win 

Smiles  from  the  pale,  proud  moon. 
And  from  the  little  fairy  faces 
That  gleam  in  heaven's  remotest  places. 

William  MotJierwell. 
lO 


146 


Poems  for  Children. 


THE   POTJNTAIN". 

Into  the  sunshine, 

Full  of  the  light, 
Leaping  and  flashing 

From  morn  till  night  | 

Into  the  moonlight. 

Whiter  than  snow. 
Waving  so  flower-like 

When  the  winds  blow  | 

Into  the  starlight. 

Rushing  in  spray, 
Happy  at  midnight, 

Happy  by  day  | 

Ever  in  motion, 

Blithesome  and  cheery, 
Still  climbing  heavenward. 

Never  aweary ; 

Glad  of  all  weathers. 
Still  seeming  best. 
Upward  or  downward 

Motion  thy  rest ; 

Full  of  a  nature 

Nothing  can  tame. 
Changed  every  moment. 

Ever  the  same ; 

Ceaseless  aspiring. 

Ceaseless  content. 
Darkness  or  sunshine 

Thy  element ; 

Glorious  fountain  ! 

Let  my  heart  be 
Fresh,  changeful,  constant. 

Upward  like  thee  ! 

Jama  BusseU  Lowell. 


THE   CATABACT   OP  LODORE. 

How  does   the   water  come  down  at 

Lodore  ? 
My  little  boy  asked  me  thus,  once 

on  a  time. 
Moreover,  he  task'd  me  to  tell  him 

m  rhyme ; 


Anon  at  the  word  there  first  came  one 

daughter. 
And  then  came  another  to  second  and 

third 
The  request  of  their  brother,  and  hear 

how  the  water 
Comes  down  at  Lodore,  with  its  rush 

and  its  roar, 
As   many   a   time   they   had    seen   it 

before. 
So   I   told    them     in    rhyme,    for     of 

rhymes  I  had  store. 
And  'twas  in  my  vocation  that  thus  I 

should  sing, 
Because  I  was  laureate  to  them  and 

the  King. 

From  its  sources  which  well 

In  the  tarn  on  the  fell, 

From  its  fountain  in  the  moun 

tain. 
Its  rills  and  its  gills, 
Through     moss     and     through 

brake. 
It  runs  and  it  creeps. 
For  awhile  till  it  sleeps. 
In  its  own  little  lake. 
And  thence  at  departing. 
Awakening  and  starting. 
It  runs  through  the  reeds. 
And  away  it  proceeds, 
Tlarough  meadow  and  glade. 
In  sun  and  in  shade. 
And  tlirough  the  wood  shelter. 
Among  crags  and  its  flurry. 
Helter-skelter — hurry-skurry. 

How  does  the  water  come  down  at 
Lodore  1 
Here  it  comes  sparkling. 
And  there  it  lies  darkling  ; 
Here  smoking  and  frothing. 
Its  tumult  and  wrath  in. 
It  hastens  along,   conflicting,  and 
strong, 
Now  striking  and  raging, 
As  if  a  war  waging. 
Its  caverns  and  rocks  among. 

Rising  and  leaping. 
Sinking  and  creeping. 
Swelling  and  flinging. 
Showering  and  springing. 
Eddying  and  whisking, 
Spouting  and  frisking. 
Twining  and  twisting. 
Around  and  around. 


I 


The  Seasons. 


147 


Collecting,  disjecting, 
W'ith  endless  rebound  ; 

Smiting  and  fighting, 

A  sight  to  delight  in  ; 

Confounding,  astounding, 
Dizzing  and  deafening  the  ear  with 
its  sound. 

Reeding  and  speeding. 
And  shocking  and  rocking. 
And  darting  and  parting. 
And  tlireading  and  spreading. 
And  whizzing  and  hissing. 
And  dripping  and  skipping, 
And  whitening  and  brightening. 
And  quivering  and  shivering. 
And  hitting  and  splitting. 
And  shining  and  twining. 
And  rattling  and  battling, 
And  shaking  and  quaking. 
And  pouring  and  roaring. 
And  waving  and  raving. 
And  tossing  and  crossing. 
And  flowing  and  growing. 
And  running  and  stunning, 
And  hurrying  and  skurrj  ing 
And  glittering  and  frittering. 
And  gathering  and  feathering. 
And  dinning  and  spinning. 
And  foaming  and  roaming, 
And  dropping  and  hopping,- 
And  working  and  jerking, 
And  heaving  and  cleaving. 
And  thundering    and    flounder- 
ing; 

And  falling  and  crawling  and  sprawl- 

And  driving  and  riving  and  striving. 

And  sprinkling  and  twinkling  and 
wrinkling. 

And  sounding  and  bounding  and  round- 
ing. 

And  bubbling  and  troubling  and 
doubling. 

Dividing  and  gliding  and  sliding. 

And  grumbling  and  rumbling  and 
tumbling. 

And  clattering  and  battering  and 
shattering ; 

And  gleaming  and  steaming  and  stream- 
ing and  beaming. 

And  rushing  and  flushing  and  brush- 
ing and  gushing, 

4n(l  flaj)ping  and  rapping  and  clapping 
and  slapping. 


And  curling  and  whirling  and  purling 
and  twirling. 

Retreating   and    beating   and    meeting 
and  sheeting. 

Delaying  and  straying  and  playing  and 
spraying. 

Advancing  and  prancing  and  glancing 
and  dancing. 

Recoiling,  turmoiling  and   toiUng  and 
boiling. 

And  thumping  and  flumping  and  bump- 
ing and  jumping. 

And  dasiiing  and  flashing  and  splash- 
ing and  clashing, — 

And    so    never    ending,    but    always 
descending, 

Sounds  and  motions  for  ever  and  ever 
are  blending. 

All  at  once  and  all  o'er,  with  a  mighty 
uproar — 

And   this   the   way   the   water    comes 
down  at  Lodore. 

Robert  Southey. 


THE   BBOOK. 

I  COME  from  haunts  of  coot  and  hern, 

1  make  a  sudden  sally, 
\nd  sparkle  out  among  the  fern. 

To  bicker  down  a  valley. 

By  thirty  hills  I  hurry  down, 

Or  slip  between  the  ridges, 
By  twenty  thorps,  a  little  town. 

And  half  a  hundred  bridges. 

Till  last  by  Philip's  farm  I  flow 
To  join  the  brimming  river. 

For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go. 
But  I  go  on  for  ever. 

I  chatter  over  stony  ways, 
In  little  sharps  and  trebles, 

I  bubble  into  eddying  bays, 
I  babble  on  the  pebbles. 

With  many  a  curve  my  banks  I  fret 
By  many  a  field  and  fallow. 

And  many  a  fairy  foreland  set 
With  willow-weed  and  mallow 

I  chatter,  chatter,  as  I  flow 
To  join  the  brimming  river, 

For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 
But  I  go  on  for  ever. 


148 


Poems   for  Children. 


I  wind  about,  and  in  and  out, 
With  here  a  blossom  sailing. 

And  here  and  there  a  lusty  trout, 
And  here  and  there  a  grayling. 

And  here  and  there  a  foamy  flake 

Upon  me,  as  I  travel 
With  many  a  silvery  waterbreak 

Above  the  golden  gravel, 

And  draw  them  all  along,  and  flow 
To  join  the  brimming  river. 

For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go. 
But  I  go  on  for  ever. 

I  steal  by  lawns  and  grassy  plots, 

I  slide  by  hazel  covers  ; 
I  move  the  sweet  forget-me-nots 

That  grow  for  happy  lovers. 

I  slip,  I  slide,  I  gloom,  I  glance. 
Among  my  skimming  swallows  ; 

I  make  the  netted  sunbeam  dance 
Against  my  sandy  shallows. 

I  murmur  under  moon  and  stars 

In  brambly  wildernesses  ; 
I  linger  by  my  shingly  bars ; 

I  loiter  round  my  cresses  ; 

And  out  again  I  curve  and  flow 
To  join  the  brimming  river. 

For  men  may  come  and  men  maj'  go. 
But  I  go  on  for  ever. 

Lord  Tennyson. 


SIGNS   OF  RAIN. 

The  hollow  winds  begin  to  blow, 
The   clouds   look   black,    the   glass   is 

low, 
The  soot  falls  down,  the  spaniels  sleep, 
The  spiders  from  their  cobwebs  peep  : 
Last  night  the  sun  went  pale  to  bed. 
The  moon  in  halos  hid  her  head  ; 
The  boding  shepherd  heaves  a  sigh. 
For,  see,  a  rainbow  spans  the  sky : 
The  walls  are  damp,  the  ditches  smell, 
Closed  is  the  pink-eyed  pimpernel. 
Hark  how  the  chairs  and  tables  crack  ! 
Old  Betty's  joints  are  on  the  rack  ; 
Loud  quack  thi  ducks,  the  peacocks 

cry. 
The  distant  hills  axe  seeming  nigh. 


How  restless  are  the  snorting  swine ; 
The  busy  flies  disturb  the  kine  ; 
Low  o'er  the  grass  the  swallow  wings. 
The  cricket,  too,  how  sharp  he  sings  ; 
Puss  on  the  hearth,  Avith  velvet  paws. 
Sits  wiping  o'er  her  whiskered  jaws. 
Through  the  clear  stream  the  fishes  rise. 
And  nimbly  catch  the  incautious  flies. 
The  glow-worms,  numerous  and  briglit, 
Illumed  the  dewy  dell  last  night. 
At  dusk  the  squalid  toad  was  seen. 
Hopping  and  crawling  o'er  the  green  ; 
The  whirling  wind  the  dust  obeys, 
And  in  the  rapid  eddy  plays  ; 
The  frog  has  changed  his  yellow  vest. 
And  in  a  russet  coat  is  dressed. 
Though  June,  the  air  is  cold  and  still. 
The  mellow  blackbird's  voice  is  shiiil. 
My  dog,  so  altered  in  his  taste. 
Quits  mutton-bones  on  grass  to  feast ; 
And   see   yon   rooks,    how    odd    their 

flight. 
They  imitate  the  gliding  kite. 
And  seem  precipitate  to  fall. 
As  if  they  felt  the  piercing  ball. 
'T^Nill  surely  rain  I  see  with  sorrow. 
Our  jaunt  must  be  put  off  to-morrow. 

Edward  Jenner. 


•       BAIN  IN  SUMMER. 

How'  beautiful  is  the  rain  ! 

After  the  dust  and  heat. 

In  the  broad  and  fiery  street, 

In  the  narrow  lane. 

How  beautiful  is  the  rain  | 

How  it  clatters  along  the  roofs. 
Like  the  tramp  of  hoofs  i 
How  it  gushes  and  struggles  out 
From   the   throat   of   the   overflowmg 
spout ! 

Across  the  window  pane 

It  pours  and  pours  ; 

And  swift  and  wide, 

With  a  muddy  tide. 

Like  a  river  down  the  gutter  roars 

The  rain,  the  welcome  rain  ! 

The  sick  man  from  his  chamber  looks 

At  the  twisted  brooks  ; 

He  can  feel  the  cool 

Breath  of  each  little  pool ; 

His  fevered  brain 

Grows  calm  again. 

And  he  breathes  a  blessing  on  the  rain. 


The   Seasons. 


149 


From  the  neighbouring  school 

Come  the  boys, 

With  more  than  their  wonted  uoiae 

And  commotion  ; 

And  down  the  wet  streets 

Sail  their  mimic  fleets, 

Till  tlie  treacherous  pool 

Engulfs  them  in  its  wliirling 

And  turbulent  ocean. 

In  the  country  on  every  side, 

Where  far  and  wide, 

Liice   a  leopard's   tawny  and   spotted 

hide 
Stretches  the  plain. 
To  the  dry  grass  and  the  drier  grain 
How  welcome  is  the  rain  ! 

In  the  furrowed  land 

The  toilsome  and  patient  oxen  stand  ; 

Lifting  the  yoke-encumbered  head, 

With  their  dilated  nostrils  spread. 

They  silently  inhale 

The  clover-scented  gale, 

And  tlie  vapours  tliat  arise 

From    the    well-watered   and   smoking 

soil. 
For  this  rest  in  the  furrow  after  toil 
Their  large  and  lustrous  eyes 
Seem  to  thank  tiie  Lord, 
More  than  man's  spoken  word 

Near  at  hand, 

From  under  the  sheltering  trees. 

The  farmer  sees 

His  pastures  and  his  fields  of  grain. 

As  they  bend  their  tops 

To  the  numberless  beating  drops 

Of  the  incessant  rain. 

He  counts  it  as  no  sin 

Tiiat  he  sees  therein 

Only  his  own  thrift  and  gain. 


Uenrtj  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


My  life  is  cold,  and  dark,  and  dreary  ; 

It  rains,  and  the  wind  is  never  weary  ; 

My  thouglits  still  cling  to  the  moulder- 
ing i'ast. 

But  the  hopes  of  youth  fall  thick  in 
the  blast. 
And  the  days  are  dark  and  dreary. 

Be  still,  sad  heart !  and  cease  repining  ; 
Behind    the    clouds    is    the    sun    still 

sliining  ; 
Tby  fate  is  the  common  fate  of  fall. 
Into  each  life  some  rain  must  fall. 
Some  ilays  must  be  dark  and  dreary. 

Uenry   Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


SUNSHINE    AFTER    A 
SHOWER. 

EvEK  after  summer  shower. 

When  the  bright  sun's  returning  power 

With   laughing   beam   has   chased   the 

storm. 
And  cheer'd  reviving  Nature's  form. 
By  sweet-briar  hedges  batlied  in  dew. 
Let  me  my  wholesome  path  pursue  ; 
There,  issuing  forth,  the  frequent  snail 
Wears  the  daub  way  with  slimy  trail; 
While  as  I  walk  from  pearled  bush 
The  sunny  sparkling  drop  I  brusli  ; 
And  all  the  landscape  fair  I  view 
Clad  in  robe  of  fresher  hue ; 
And  so  loud  the  blackbird  sings. 
That  far  and  near  the  valley  rings. 
From  siielter  deep  of  shaggy  rock 
The  shepherd  drives  his  joyful  Hock  ; 
From  bowering  beech  the  mower  blithe 
With     new-born     vigour     grasps     the 

scythe  ; 
While    o'er    the    smooth     unbounded 

meatls 
His     last    faint    gleam     the     raini)ow 

spreads. 

Thomas   Warluii. 


THE    RAINY   DAY. 

The  day  is  cold,  and  dark,  and  dreary  } 
It  rains,  and  the  wind  is  never  weary  ; 
The  vine  still  clings  to  the  mouldering 

wall, 
But   at   every   gust   the   dead   leaves 

fall, 
And  the  day  is  dark  and  dreary. 


A  RAINBOW. 

A  FRAGMENT  of  a  rainbow  bright 
Tiirough  the  moist  air  I  see. 

All  dark  and  damp  on  yonder  height, 
All  clear  and  gay  to  me. 


150 


Poems  for  Children. 


An  hour  ago  the  storm  was  here, 
The  gleam  was  far  behind. 

So  will  our  joj's  and  griefs  appear 
When  earth  has  ceased  to  blind. 

Grief  will  be  joy,  if  on  its  edge 
Fall  soft  that  holiest  ray  : 

Joy  will  be  grief,  if  no  faint  pledge 
Be  there  of  heavenly  day. 

John  Kehle, 


THE    SUH". 

Somewhere  it  is  always  light; 

For  when  'tis  morning  here, 
In  some  far  distant  land  'tis  night. 

And  the  bright  moon  shines  there. 

When  you're  undressed  and  going  to 
bed. 

They  are  just  rising  there, 
And  morning  on  tlie  hills  doth  spread 

AVlien  it  is  evening  here. 

And  other  distant  lands  there  be, 

Where  it  is  always  night  ; 
For  weeks  and  weeks  they  never  see 

The  sun,  nor  have  they  light. 


Still     seem,     as     to    my     childhood's 

sight, 
A  midway  station  giveii, 
For  happy  spirits  to  alight, 
Betwixt  the  earth  and  heaven. 

Can  all  that  optics  teach,  unfold 

Thy  form  to  please  me  so. 
As  when  I  di-eamt  of  gems  and  gold 

Hid  in  thy  radiant  bow  ? 

What  science  from  creation's  face 
Enchantment's  veil  withdraws, 

What  lovely  visions  yield  their  place 
To  cold  material  laws  ! 

And  yet,  fair  bow,  no  fabling  dreams. 
But  words  of  the  Most  High, 

Have  told  why  first  thy  robe  of  beams 
Was  woven  in  the  sky. 

When  o'er  the  green  undeluged  earth 
Heaven's  covenant  thou  didst  shine. 

How    came   the    world's    gray    fathers 
forth 
To  watch  thy  sacred  sign  ! 

And  when  its  yellow  lustre  smiled 
O'er  mountains  yet  untrod. 

Each  mother  held  aloft  her  child 
To  bless  the  how  of  God. 


I 


I 


For  it  is  dark  both  night  and  day. 
But  what's  as  wondrous  quite, 

The  darkness  it  doth  pass  away. 
And  then  for  weeks  'tis  light. 

Yes,   while  you   sleep   the  sun   sliincs 
bright. 

The  sky  is  blue  and  clear  ; 
For  weeks  and  weeks  there  is  no  night, 

But  always  dayUght  there. 

Thomas  Miller. 


The  earth  to  thee  her  incense  yields. 
The  lark  thy  welcome  sings. 

When,     glittering     in     the     fresheu'd 
fields, 
The  snowy  mushroom  springs. 

How  glorious  is  thy  girdle,  cast 
O'er  mountain,  tower,  and  town. 

Or  mirror'd  in  the  ocean  vast 
A  thousand  fathoms  doAvn  I 

As  fresh  in  yon  horizon  dark. 
As  j'oung  thy  beauties  seem. 

As  when  the  eagle  from  the  ark 
First  sported  in  thy  beam. 


THE  KAINBOW. 

Triumphal  arch,  that  fiU'st  the  sky 
When  storms  prepare  to  part, 

I  ask  not  proud  Philosophy 
To  teach  me  what  thou  art. 


For,  faithful  to  its  sacred  page. 
Heaven  still  rebuilds  thy  span  ; 

Nor  lets  the  type  gi'ow  pale  with  age 
That  first  spoke  peaep  to  man. 

Thomas  Campbell. 


The  Seasons. 


151 


I 


"MY  HEART  LEAPS  UP  WHEN 
I  BEHOLD." 

My  heart  leaps  up  when  I  behold 

A  rainbow  in  the  sky  : 
So  was  it  when  my  life  began  ; 
So  it  is  now  I  am  a  man  ; 
So  be  it  when  I  shall  grow  old. 

Or  let  me  die  ! 
The  Child  is  father  of  the  Man  ; 
And  I  could  wish  my  days  to  be 
Bound  each  to  each  by  natural  piety. 

William  Wordsworth. 


THE  WHIEL-BLAST. 

A  WHIRL- BLAST  ffom  behind  the  hill 
Pvush'd  o'er  the  woods  with  atarthng 

sound  ; 
Then — all  at  once  the  air  was  still. 
And    showers    of    hailstones     patter'd 

round. 
Where  leafless  oaks  tower'd  high  above, 
I  sat  within  an  undergrove 
Of  tallest  hollies,  tall  and  green  ; 
A  fairer  bower  was  never  seen. 
From  year  to  year  the  spacious  floor 
With  wither'd  leaves  is  cover'd  o'er. 
And  all  the  year  the  bower  is  green  ; 
But  see  !   where'er  the  liailstones  drop 
Tlie  wither'd  leaves  all  skip  and  hop  ; 
There's    not    a    breeze — no    breath    of 

air — 
Yet  here,  and  there,  and  everywhere 
Along  the  floor,  beneath  the  shade 
By  those  embowering  hollies  made, 
The  leaves  in  myriads  jump  and  spring. 
As  if  with  pipes  and  music  rare 
Some  Robin  GoodfeUow  were  there. 
And  all  those  leaves,  in  festive  glee, 
Were  dancing  to  the  minstrelsy. 

WiUiam  WordauxMih, 


Hides  hills  and  woods,  the  river,  and 
the  heaven, 

And  veils  the  farmhouse  at  the  garden's 
end. 

The  sledge  and  traveller  stopped,  the 
courier's  feet 

Delayed,  all  fi'iends  shut  out,  the  house- 
mates set 

Around  the  radiant  fireplace,  inclosed 

In  a  tumultuous  privary  of  storm. 

Come,  see  the  north  wind's  masonry. 
Out  of  an  unseen  quarry  evermore 
Furnished  with  tile,  the  fierce  artificer 
Curves   his   white   bastions   with   pro- 
jected roof 
Round  every  windward  stake,  or  tree, 

or  door. 
Speeding,  the  myriad-handed,  hia  wild 

work 
So  fanciful,  so  savage,  naught  cares  he 
For    number    or    proportion.     Mock- 
ingly, 
On   coop   or  kennel   he   hangs   Parian 
wreaths  ; 

A  swan-like  form  invests  the  hiddea 
thorn  ; 

Fills  up  the  farmer's  lane  from  wall  to 
wall, 

Maugre  the  farmer's  sighs  ;  and,  at  the 
gate, 

A  tapering  turret  overtops  the  work  : 

.4nd  when  his  hours  are  numbered,  and 
the  world 

Is  all  his  own,  retiring,  as  he  were  not. 

Leaves,  when  the  smi  appears,  as- 
tonished Art 

To  mimic  in  slow  structures,  stone  by 
stone. 

Built  in  an  age,  the  mad  wind's  night- 
work. 

The  frolic  architecture  of  the  snow. 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 


THE   SNOWSTOBM. 

Announced   by   all   the   trumpets   of 

the  sky, 
Arrives    the   snow,    and,    driving   o'er 

the  fields. 
Seems  now  here  to  aliglit ;    the  whited 

air 


UP  IN  THE  MORNING  EARLY. 

Up  in  the  morning's  no  for  me. 

Up  in  the  morning  early  ; 
Wlien    a'    the    hilla    are    cover'd    wi' 
snaw, 

I'm  suie  it's  winter  faixly. 


152 


Poems  for  Children. 


Card    blawa    the    wind    frae   east    to 
west. 

The  drift  is  driving  sairly  ; 
Sae  loud  and  shrill's  I  hear  the  blast, 

I'm  sure  it's  winter  fairly. 

The  birds  sit  chittering  in  the  thorn, 
A'  day  they  fare  but  sparely  ; 

And  lang's  tlie  night  frae  e'en  to  morn  ; 
I'm  sui-e  it's  winter  fairly. 

Robert  Burns. 


THE   VOICE    OP   SPKINa. 

"  SPErN'G,    where    are     you     tarrying 

now  ? 
Why  are  you  so  long  unfelt  ? 
Winter  went  a  month  ago, 
When  the  snows  began  to  melt." 

"  I  am  coming,  little  maiden. 
With  the  pleasant  sunshine  laden  ; 
With  the  honey  for  the  bee. 
With  the  blossom  for  the  tree, 
With  the  flower,  and  with  the  leaf; 
Till  I  come,  the  time  is  brief. 


THE  MONTHS. 

January  brings  the  snow, 
Makes  our  feet  and  fingers  glow. 

February  brings  the  rain. 
Thaws  the  frozen  lake  again. 

March  brings  breezes  sharp  and  chill, 
Shakes  the  dancing  daffodil. 

April  brings  the  primrose  sweet. 
Scatters  daisies  at  our  feet. 


**  I  am  coming,  I  am  coming  ! 
Hark  !  the  little  bee  is  humming ; 
See  !    the  lark  is  soaring  high 
In  the  bright  and  sunny  sky  ; 
And  the  gnats  are  on  the  wing  ; 
Little  maiden,  now  is  Spring  ! 

"  See  the  yellow  catkins  cover 
AU  the  slender  willows  over ; 
And  on  mossy  banks  so  green. 
Starlike  primroses  are  seen  ; 
And  their  clustering  leaves  below. 
White  and  purple  violets  glow. 


May  brings  flocks  of  pretty  lambs, 
Sporting   roimd   their   fleecy   dams. 

June  brings  tulips,  lilies,  roses, 

Fills  the  children's  hands  with  posies. 

Hot  July  brings  thunder-showers, 
Apricots,  and  gilly-flowers. 

August  brings  the  sheaves  of  corn  ; 
Then  the  harvest  home  is  borne. 

Warm  September  brings  the  fruit ; 
Sportsmen  then  begin  to  shoot. 

Brown  October  brings  the  pheasant 
Then  to  gather  nuts  is  pleasant. 

Dull  November  brings  the  blast — 
Hark  !   the  leaves  are  whirling  fast. 

Cold  December  brings  the  sleet. 
Blazing  fire,  and  Christmas  treat. 

Sara  Coleridge. 


"  Hark  !    the  little  lambs  are  bleating. 
And  the  cawing  rooks  are  meeting 
In  the  elms,  a  noisy  crowd  ; 
And  all  birds  are  singing  loud ; 
And  the  first  white  butterfly 
In  the  sun  goes  flitting  by, 

"  Little  maiden,  look  around  thee  ! 
Green    and    flowery    fields    surround 

thee  ; 
Every  httle  stream  is  bright. 
All  the  orchard  trees  are  white. 
And  each  small  and  waving  shoot 
Has  for  thee  sweet  flower  or  fruit. 

"  Turn  thy  eyes  to  earth  and  heaven  ! 
God  for  thee  the  Spring  hath  given  ; 
Taught  the  birds  their  melodies, 
Clothed    the    earth    and    cleared    the 

skies, 
For  thy  pleasure,  or  thy  food  ; 
I'our  thy  soul  in  gratitude  ! 
So  may'st  thou  'mid  blessings  dwell : 
Little  maiden,  fare  thee  well  !  " 

Mary  Uowitt. 


The  Seasons. 


153 


A  WAIiK  IN   SPBINO. 

I'm  very  glad  the  spring  is  come — the 
sun  shines  out  so  bright, 

The  little  birds  upon  the  trees  are  sing- 
ing for  delight. 

The  young  giass  looks  so  fresh  and 
green,  the  laiubkins  sport  and  play, 

And  I  can  skip  and  run  about  as  mer- 
rily as  they. 

I  like  to  see  the  daisy  and  the  butter- 
cups once  more. 

The  primrose  and  the  cowslip  too,  and 
every  pretty  flower ; 

I  like  to  see  the  butterfly  fluttering 
her  painted  wing, 

And  all  things  seem  just  like  myself,  so 
pleased  to  see  the  spring. 

The  fishes  in  the  little  brook  are  jump- 
ing up  on  high. 

The  lark  is  singing  sweetly  as  she 
mounts  into  the  sky  ; 

The  rooks  are  building  up  their  nests 
upon  the  great  tall  tree, 

And  everything's  as  busy  and  as  happy 
as  can  be. 

There's  not  a  cloud  upon  the  sky, 
there's  nothing  dark  or  sad  ; 

I  jump,  and  scarce  know  what  to  do,  I 
feel  so  very  glad. 

God  must  be  very  good  indeed,  who 
made  each  pretty  thing  : 

I'm  sure  we  ought  to  love  Him  much 
for  bringing  back  the  spring. 

M.  A.  Sludart. 


SPBINQ. 

Speino,  the  sweet  Spring,  is  the  year's 

pleasant  king  ; 
Then   blooms  each  thing,   then  maids 

dance  in  a  ring  ; 
Cold  doth  not  sting,  the  pretty  birds 

do  sing. 
Cuckoo,  jug-jug,  pu-we,  to-witta-woo  ! 

The  palm  and  the  may  make  country 

houses  gay. 
Lambs  frisk  and  play,  the  shepherds 

pipe  all  day. 
And  we  hear  aye  birds  tune  this  merry 

lay* 

Cuckoo,  jug-jug,  pu-we,  to-witta-woo  ! 


The  fields   breathe  sweet,   the  daisies 

kiss  our  feet. 
Young  lovers  meet,  old  wives  a-sunning 

sit ; 
In  every  street  these  tunes  our  ears  do 

greet. 
Cuckoo,  jug-jug,  pu-we,  to-witta-woo  ! 
Spring  !    the  sweet  Spring  ! 

Thomas  Nanh. 


SPEINO  IS  COME. 

Ye  coax  the  timid  verdure. 

Along  the  hills  of  Spring, 
Blue  skies  and  gentle  breezes. 

And  soft  clouds  wandering  ! 
The  quire  of  birds  on  budding  spray. 

Loud  larks  in  ether  sing  ; 
A  fresher  pulse,  a  wider  day. 

Give  joy  to  everything. 

The  gay  translucent  morning 

Lies  glittering  on  the  sea. 
The  noonday  sprinkles  shadows 

Athwart  the  daisied  lea  ; 
The  round  sun's  falling  scarlet  rim 

In  vapour  hideth  he  ; 
The  darkling  hours  are  cool  and  dim 

As  vernal  night  should  be. 

Our  Earth  has  not  grown  aged. 

With  all  her  countless  years ; 
She  works,  and  never  wearies. 

Is  glad,  and  nothing  fears  : 
The  glow  of  air,  broad  land  and  wave. 

In  season  re-appears  ; 
And  shall,  when  slumber  in  the  grave 

These  human  smiles  and  tears. 

Oh,  rich  in  songs  and  colours, 

Thou  joy-reviving  Spring  ! 
Some  hopes  are  chill'd  with  winter 

Whose  term  thou  canst  not  bring, 
Some  voices  answer  not  thy  call 

When  sky  and  woodland  ring, 
Some  faces  come  not  back  at  all 

With  primrose-blossoming. 

The  distant- flying  swallow 
The   upward-yearning  seed. 

Find  Nature's  promise  faithful. 
Attain  their  humble  meed. 


154 


Poems  for  Children. 


Great  Parent !   thou  hast  also  form'd 
These  hearts  -which  throb  and  bleed  ; 

With  love,  truth,  hope,  their  life  hast 
warm'd. 
And  what  is  best,  decreed. 

William  AUino-ham, 


NOW  THAT   "WINTEB'S    GONE. 

Now  that  the  winter's  gone,  the  earth 

hath  lost 
Her  snow-white  robes  ;   and  no   more 

the  frost 
Candies    the    grass,    or    casts    an    icy 

cream 
Upon  the  silver  lake  or  crystal  stream  ; 
But  the   warm  thaws  the  benumbed 

earth, 
x\nd  makes    it  tender;    gives  a  sacred 

birth 
To  the  dead  swallow  ;   wakes  in  hollow 

tree 
The  drowsy  cuckoo  and  the  humble- 
bee. 
Now  do  a  choir  of  chirping  minstrels 

bring 
In  triumph  to  the  world,  the  youthful 

Spring : 
The  valleys,  hills,  and  woods,  in  rich 

array. 
Welcome  the  coming  of  the  long'd-for 

May. 

Thomas  Carew. 


MABCH. 

The  stormy  Jilarch  is  come  at  last, 
With  wind,  and  cloud,  and  chang- 
ing skies  ; 
I  hear  the  rushing  of  the  blast 
That    through    the    snowy    valley 
flies. 

Ah,  passing  few  are  they  who  speak. 
Wild,   stormy   month,   in   praise   of 
thee  ; 
Yet  though  thy    winds   are  loud  and 
bleak, 
Thou  art  a  welcome  month  to  me. 


For  thou  to  northern  lands,  again 
The    glad    and    glorious    sun    dost 
bring  ; 
And  thou  hast  joined  the  gentle  train. 
And    wear'st    the    gentle    name    of 
Spring. 
m         *         *         *         *         * 

Then  sing  aloud  the  gushing  rills 
In  joy  that  they  again  are  free, 
And,  brightly  leaping  down  the  hills. 
Renew  their  journey  to  the  sea. 
*         «         «         «         «         * 
Thou,  bring'st  the  hope  of  those  calm 
skies. 
And  that  soft  time  of  sunny  showers. 
When  the  wide  bloom,  on  earth  that 
lies. 
Seems  of  a  brighter  world  than  ours 

William  Bryant, 


sPRiNa. 

Sound  the  flute  | 
Now  it's  mute. 
Birds  deUght 
Day  and  night ; 
•    Nightingale 
In  the  dale, 
Lark  in  sky 
Merrily 
Merrily,    merrily,    to    welcome   in   the 
year. 

liittle  boy, 
Full  of  joy ; 
Little  girl. 
Sweet  and  small ; 
Cock  does  crow. 
So  do  you. 
Merry  voice. 
Infant  noise. 
Merrily,    merrily,    to   welcome   in   the 
year. 

IJttle  lamb. 
Here  I  am  ; 
Come  and  lick 
My  white  neck ; 
Let  me  pull 
Your  soft  wool ; 
I.,et  me  kiss 
Your  soft  face  : 
Merrily,   merrily,   we   welcome   in   the 
year. 

WiUinm  Blake. 


The  Seasons. 


155 


WBITTEN  IN  MARCH. 

The  cock  is  cmwing. 

The  stream  is  flowing, 

The  small  birds  twitter. 

The  lake  doth  giltter, 

The  green  field  sleeps  ia  the  sun : 

The  oldest  and  youngest 

Are  at  work  with  the  strongest : 

The  cattle  are  grazing, 

'I'heir  heads  never  raising. 

Theie  are  forty  feeding  like  one  ! 

Like  an  army  defeated, 

The  snow  hath  retreated, 

And  now  doth  fare  ill 

On  the  top  of  the  bare  hill  ; 

The   ploughboy   is   whooping — anon- 

anon: 
There's  joy  in  the  mountains, 
There's  life  in  the  fountains ; 
Small  clouds  are  sailing. 
Blue  sky  prevailing, 
The  rain  is  over  and  gone  ! 

William   Wordsworth. 


THE    SPRING   WALK. 

We  had  a  jileasant  walk  to-day. 
Over  tlie  meadows  and  far  away. 
Across  the  bridge  by  the  water-niill, 
By  the  woodside,  and  up  the  hUl ; 
And  if  you  listen  to  what  I  say, 
I'll  tell  you  what  we  saw  to-day. 

Amid  a  hedge,  where  the  first  leaves 
Were  peeping  from  their  sheaths  so 
shy, 
We  saw  four  eggs  within  a  nest. 

And  they  were  blue  as  the  summer's 
sky. 

An  elder-branch  dipp'd  in  the  brook. 
We   wondered   why   it   moved     and 
found 
A  silken-hair'd,  smooth  wat«r-rat 
Nibbling  and  swimming  round  and 
round. 


Where  daisies  open'd  to  the  sun. 
In  a  broad  meadow,  green 
white. 

The  lambs  were  racing  eagerly — 
We  never  saw  a  prettier  sight. 


and 


Wp  saw  upo!i  tlie  sliady  banl^, 
Long  rows  of  golden  flowers  shine. 

And  first  mistook  for  buttercups. 
The  star-shaped  yellow  celandine. 

Anemones  and  primroses,  . 

And  the  blue  violets  of  spring. 
We  found  whilst  listening  by  a  hedge 

To  hear  a  merry  ploughman  sing. 

And  fiom  the  earth  the  plough  turn'd 
up 
There  came  a  sweet  refi-eshing  smell, 
Such  as  the  lily  of  the  vale 

Sends  forth  from  many  a  woodland 
dell. 


We  saw  the  yellow  wall-tlower  wave 
Upon  a  mouldering  castle  wall. 

And  then  we  watch'd  the  busy  rooks 
Among  the  ancient  elm-trees  tall 

And  leaning  from  the  old  stone  bridge, 
Below  we  saw  our  shadows  lie. 

And     through     the     gloomy     arches 
watch'd 
The  swift  and  fearless  swallows  liy. 

We  heard  the  speckle-breasted  lark 
As  it  sang  somewhere  out  of  sight. 

And  we  tried  to  find  it,  but  the  sky 
Was   fiU'd    with   clouds   of   dazzling 
light. 

We  saw  yomig  rabbits  near  the  wood. 
And    heard    a    pheasant's    wing    go 
"  whirr  "  ; 

And  then  we  saw  a  squirrel  leap 
From  an  old  oak-tree  to  a  fir. 


We  came  back  by  the  village  fields, 
A  pleasant  walk  it  was  across  'em, 

For  all  behind  the  houses  lay 

The    orchards    red    and    white   with 
blossom. 


Were  I  to  tell  you  all  we  saw, 

]  'm  sure  that  it  would  take  me  hours  ; 

For  the  whole  landscape  was  alive 
With  bees,  and  birds,  and  buds  and 
flowers. 

Thomas  Miller. 


156 


Poems  for  Children. 


THE  NEW   MOON. 

When,  as  the  garish  day  is  done. 
Heaven  burns  with  the  descended  sun, 

'Tis  passing  sweet  to  mark. 
Amid  the  flush  of  crimson  hght, 
The   new    moon's    modest    bow  grow 
bright, 

As  earth  and  sky  grow  dark. 

Few  are  the  hearts  too  cold  to  feel 
A  thrill  of  gladness  o'er  them  steal 

When  first  the  wandering  eye 
Sees  faintly,  in  the  evening  blaze. 
That  glimmering  curve  of  tender  rays 

Just  planted  in  the  sky. 

0  tt  *  *  *  * 

William  Cullen  Bryant, 


The  household  spaniel  flings  his  length 
Beneath  the  sheltering  wall ; 

The  panting  sheejo-dog  seeks  the  spot 
Where  leafy  shadows  fall. 

The  petted  kitten  frisks  among 
The  bean-flowers'  fragrant  maze  ; 

Or,  basking,  throws  her  dappled  form 
To  catch  the  warmest  rays. 

The  opened  casements,  flinging  wide. 

Geraniums  give  to  view  ; 
With  choicest  posies  ranged  between 

Still  wet  with  morning  dew. 

The  mower  whistles  o'er  his  toil. 
The  emerald  grass  must  yield  ; 

The  scythe  is  out,  the  swath  is  down, 
There's  incense  in  the  field. 


SONG  ON  A  MATT  MORNING. 

Now  the  bright  morning  star,  Daj^'s 
harbinger. 

Comes  dancing  from  the  East,  and 
leads  with  lier 

The  flowery  May,  who  from  her  green 
lap  throws 

The  yellow  cowslip  and  the  pale  prim- 
rose. 

Hail,  Bounteous  May,  that  doth  inspire 

Mirth,  and  youth,  and  warm  desire  ; 

Woods  and  groves  are  of  thy  dressing, 

Hill  and  dale  doth  boast  thy  blessing  ; 

Thus  we  salute  thee  with  our  early 
song. 

And  welcome  thee,  and  wish  thee  long. 

John  Milton. 


STJMMEB. 

'Tis  June — the  merry,  smiling  June- 
'Tis  blushing  summer  now  ; 

The  rose  is  red,  the  bloom  is  dead. 
The  fruit  is  on  the  bough. 

The  bird-cage  hangs  upon  the  wall. 
Amid  the  clustering  vine  ; 

The  rustic  seat  is  in  the  porch. 
Where  honeysuckles  twine. 

The  rosy,  ragged  urchins  play 
Beneath  the  glowing  sky  ; 

They  scoop  the  sand,  or  gaily  chase 
The  bee  that  buzzes  by. 


Oh  !    how  I  love  to  calmly  muse. 
In  such  an  hour  as  this  ! 

To  nurse  the  joy  creation  gives 
In  purity  and  bliss. 

Eliza  Cook. 


a:    STJMMEB   INVOCATION. 

0,  GENTLE,  gentle  summer  rain. 
Let  not  the  silver  lily  pine. 

The  drooping  lily  pine  in  vain 

To  feel  that  dewy  touch  of  thine — 

To  drink  thy  freshness  once  again, 

O,  gentle,  gentle  summer  rain  j 

In  heat  the  landscape  quivering  lies ; 

The  cattle  pant  beneath  the  tree  ; 
Through  parching  air  and  purple  skies 

The  earth  looks  up  in  vain,  for  thee  ; 
For  thee — for  thee,  it  looks  in  vain, 
O  gentle,  gentle  summer  rain  ! 

Come,    thou,    and    brim   the   meadow 
streams, 
And  soften  all  the  hills  with  mist, 
0  falling  dew  !   from  burning  dreams 
By  thee  shall  herb  and  flower   be 
kissed  ; 
And  earth  shall  bless  thee  yet  again, 
O  gentle,  gentle  summer  rain  ! 

William  Cox  Bennett. 


The  Seasons. 


157 


AUTUMN". 

A  Dirge. 

The  warm  sun  is  failing,  the  bleak  wind 

is  wailing, 
The  bare  boughs  are  sighing,  the  pale 
flowers  are  dying ; 

And  the  year 
On  the  earth  her  death- bed,  in  a  shroud 
of  leaves  dead, 

Is  lying. 
Come,  ]\Ionths,  come  away. 
From  November  to  May, 
In  your  saddest  array, — 
Follow  the  bier 
Of  the  dead  cold  year, 
And  like  dim  shadows  watch  by  her 
sepulchre. 

The  chill  rain  is  falling,  the  nipt  worm 

is  crawling, 
I  Uo  rivers  are  swelhng,  the  thunder  is 
knelling. 

For  the  year ; 
The  blithe  swallows  are  flown,  and  the 
lizards  each  gone 

To  his  dwelling. 
Come,  Months,  come  away ; 
Put  on  white,  black,  and  gray  ; 
Let  your  light  sisters  play  ; 
Ye,  follow  tlic  bier 
Of  the  dead  cold  year. 
And   make  her  grave  green  with  tear 
on  tear. 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley. 


I 


SEPTEMBER. 

There  are  twelve  months  throughout 

the  year. 
From  January  to  December — 
And    the    primest   month    of   all    the 

twelve 
Is  the  merry  month  of  September  ! 

Then  apples  so  red 

Hang  overhead. 

And  nuts  ripe-brown 

Come  showering  down 
In  the  bountiful  days  of  September  ! 

There    are     flowers     enougli     in     the 
summer-time. 
More  flowers  than  I  ■  an  tomember — 


But  none  with  the  purple,  gold,  and 

red 
That  dyes  the  flowers  of  September  ! 
The  gorgeous  flowers  of  September  ! 

And  the  sun  looks  through 

A  clearer  blue. 

And  the  moon  at  night 

Sheds  a  clearer  light 
On    the    beautiful    flowers    of    Sep- 
tember } 

The    poor    too    often    go    scant    and 
bare. 
But  it  glads  my  soul  to  remember 
That  'tis  harvest-time  throughout  the 
land 
In    the    bountiful    month    of    Sep- 
tember ! 
Oh  !    the  good,  kind  month  of  Sep- 
tember ! 
It  giveth  the  poor 
The  growth  of  the  moor ; 
And  young  and  old 
'Mong  sheaves  of  gold, 
Go  gleaning  in  rich  September. 

Mary  Uowilt. 


DECEMBER. 

In  a  drear-niglited  December, 

Too  happy,  happy  tree, 
Thy  brandies  ne'er  remember 

Their  green  felicity. 
The  north  cannot  undo  them, 
VV^ith  a  sleety  whistle  through  them  ; 
Nor  frozen  thawings  glue  thciii 

From  budding  at  the  prime. 

In  a  drear-niglited  December, 
Too  happy,  liappy  brook, 

Thy  bubblings  ne'er  remember 
Apollo's  summer  look  ; 

But  with  a  sweet  forgetting. 

They  stay  their  crystal  fretting 

Never,  never  petting 
About  the  frozen  time. 

Ah  !   would  'twere  so  with  many 

A  gentle  girl  and  boy  ! 
But  were  there  ever  any 

Writhed  not  at  passed  joy  ? 
To  know  the  change  and  feel  it. 
When  there  is  none  to  heal  it. 
Nor  numbed  sense  to  steal  it. 

Was  never  said  in  rhyme. 

John  Keata, 


158 


Poems  for  Children. 


DEATH    OP    THE    OLD    YEAR 

Full  knee-deep  lies  the  winter  snow. 
And    the    winter    winds    are    wearily 

sighing : 
Toll  ye  the  church-bell  sad  and  slow. 
And  tread  softly  and  speak  low. 
For  the  Old  Year  lies  a-dying. 

Old  Year,  you  must  not  die  ; 
You  came  to  us  so  readily, 
You  lived  with  us  so  steadily, 
Old  Year,  you  shall  not  die. 

He  lieth  still ;   he  doth  not  move  ; 
He  will  not  see  the  dawn  of  day. 
He  hath  no  other  life  above. 
He  gave  me  a  friend,  and  a  true  true- 
love, 
And  the  New  Year  will  take  'em  away. 

Old  Year,  you  must  not  go  ; 
So  long  as  you  have  been  with  us, 
Such  joy  as  you  have  seen  with  us. 
Old  Year,  you  shall  not  go. 

He  froth'd  his  bumpers  to  the  brim  ; 
A  jollier  year  we  shall  not  see. 
But  tho'  his  eyes  are  waxing  dim. 
And  tho'  his  foes  speak  ill  of  him. 
He  was  a  friend  to  me. 

Old  Year,  you  shall  not  die  ; 
We  did  so  laugh  and  cry  with  you, 
I've  half  a  mind  to  die  with  you, 
Old  Year,  if  you  must  die. 

He  was  full  of  joke  and  jest. 
But  all  his  merry  quips  are  o'er. 
To  see  him  die,  across  the  waste 
His  son  and  heir  doth  ride  post-haste, 
But  he'll  be  dead  before. 

Everyone  for  his  own. 

The   night  is   starry   and   cold,    my 

friend. 
And  the  new  year  blithe  and  bold, 

my  friend. 
Comes  up  to  take  his  own. 

How  hard  he  breathes  !   over  the  snow 
I  heard  just  now  the,  crowing  cock. 
The  shadows  flicker  to  and  fro  ; 
The   cricket   chirps ;     the   light    burns 

low  ; 
'Tis  nearly  twelve  o'clock. 


Shake  hands  before  you  die. 
Old  Year,  we'll  dearly  rue  for  you  ; 
What  is  it  we  can  do  for  you  ? 
Speak  out  before  you  die. 

His  face  is  growing  sharp  and  thin 
Alack  !    our  friend  is  gone. 
Close  up  his  eyes  ;    tie  up  his  chin  ; 
Step  from  the  corpse,  and  let  him  in 
That  standeth  there  alone, 

And  waiteth  at  the  door. 

There's  a  new  foot  on  the  floor,  my 

fwend. 
And   a  new  face  at  the  door,    my 

friend, 
A  new  face  at  the  door. 

Lord  Tennyson. 


THE   WINTER  FIRE. 

A  fire's  a  good  companionable  friend, 
A  comfortable  friend,  who  meets  your 

face 
With    welcome   glad,   and   makes   the 

poorest  shed 
As    jjleasant    as    a    palace  !     Are    you 

cold  ? 
He  warms  you — weary  ?    he  refreshes 

you, 
Are  you  in  darkness  ?    he  gives  light 

to  yon — 
In  a  strange  land  ?    he  wears  a  face 

that  is 
Familiar    from    your    childhood.     Are 

you  poor  ? — 
What  matters  it  to  him  ?     He  knows 

no  difference 
Between  an  emperor  and  the  poorest 

beggar  ! 
Wiiere   is   the   friend,   that   bears   the 

name  of  man. 
Will  do  as  much  for  you  ? 

Mary  Howitt. 

WINTER    SONGS. 

When  icicles  hang  by  the  wall, 

And   Dick   the  shepherd    blows   his 
nail, 
And  Tom  bears  logs  into  the  hall. 

And  milk  comes  frozen  home  in  pail  ; 
Wlien  blood  is  nipp'd  and  ways  be  foul. 
Then  nightly  sings  the  staring  owl, 

To- who  ; 
Tu-whit,  To-who,  a  merry  note, 
While  greasy  Joan  doth  keel   the  pot. 


I 


The  Seasons. 


159 


When  all  around  the  wind  doth  blow, 
And   cougliing  drowns   the  parson's 
saw. 
And  birds  sit  brooding  in  the  mow, 
And   Marian's   nose   looks   red   and 
raw, 
When  roasted  crabs  hiss  in  the  bowl, 
Then  nightly  sings  the  staring  owl, 

To-who  ; 
Tu-whit,  To-wlio,  a  merry  note. 
While  greasy  Joan  doth  keel  the  pot. 

Shakespeare. 


THE    WIND. 

The  wind  has  a  language,  I  would  T 

could  learn  ; 
Sometimes  'tis  sootliing,  and  sometimes 

'tis  stern  ; 
Sometimes  it  comes  like  a  low,  sweet 

song, 
And  all  things  grow  calm,  as  the  sound 

floats  along  ; 
And  the  forest  is  lulled  by  the  dreamy 

strain  ; 
And  slumber  sinks  down  on  the  wan- 
dering main  : 
And  its  crystal  arms  are  fokled  in  rest. 
And  the  tall  ship  sleeps  on  its  heaving 

breast. 

Letitia  Elizabeth  Landon. 


THE  NORTH-EAST  WIND. 

Welcome,  wild  north-easter  ! 

Shame  it  is  to  see 
Odes  to  every  zephjn:, 

Xe'er  a  verse  to  thee. 
Welcome,  black  north-easter  | 

O'er  the  German  foam  ; 
O'er  the  Danish  moorlands. 

From  thy  frozen  homo. 
Tired  we  are  of  summer, 

Tired  of  gaudy  glare, 
Showers  soft  and  steaming. 

Hot  and  breatliless  air. 
Tired  of  listless  dreaming. 

Through  the  lazy  day  ; 
Jovial  wind  of  winter, 

Turn  us  out  to  play  ! 
Sweep  the  golden  reed-beds  ; 

Crisp  the  lazy  dyke  ; 
Hunger  into  madness 

Every  plunging  pike. 
Fill  the  lake  with  \\ild-fowl; 

Fi:fl  the  marsh  wi  li  snipe  ; 


While  on  dreamy  moorlands 

Lonely  curlew  pipe. 
Through  the  black  fir  forest 

Thunder  harsh  and  dry. 
Shattering  down  the  snow  Bakes, 

Off  the  curdled  sky. 
*  *  *  » 

Cluirles  Kingsleij. 


THE  WIND  IN  A  FEOIilC. 

The  wind  one  morning  sprang  up  from 

sleep. 
Saying,  "  Now  for  a  fi'ohc  !    now  for  a 

leap  ! 
Now  for  a  mad-cap  galloping  chase  ! 
I'll  make  a  commotion  in  every  place  !  " 

So  it  swept  with  a  bustle  right  through 

a  great  town. 
Cracking    the    signs     and     scattering 

down 
Shutters  ;  and  whisking,  with  merciless 

squalls. 
Old  women's  bonnets  and  gingerbread 

stalls. 
There  never  was  heard  a  much  lustier 

shout, 
As   the   apples   and   oranges   trundled 

about ; 
And  the  urchins  that  stand  with  their 

thievish  eyes 
For  ever  on  watch,  ran  off  each  with  a 

prize. 

Then  away  to  the  field  it  went  bluster- 
ing and  humming. 

And  the  cattle  all  wonder'd  whatever 
was   coming ; 

It  pluck'd  by  the  tails  the  grave 
matronly  cows. 

And  toss'd  the  colts'  manes  all  over 
their  brows  ; 

Till,  offended  at  such  an  unusual 
salute. 

They  all  turn'd  their  backs,  and  stood 
sulky  and  mute. 

So  on  it  went  capering  and  playing  its 

pranks. 
Whistling    with    reeds    on    the    broad 

river's  banks. 
Putting  the  birds  as  they  sat  on  the 

spray, 
Or   the   traveller  grave  on   the   king's 

highway. 


160 


Poems  for  Children. 


It  was  not  too  nice  to  hustle  the  bags 

Of  the  beggar,  and  flutter  his  dirty 
rags  ; 

'Twas  so  bold,  that  it  feared  not  to  play 
its  joke 

With  the  doctor's  wig  or  the  gentle- 
man's cloak. 

Through  the  forest  it  roar'd,  and  cried 
gaily,  "  Now, 

You  sturdy  old  oaks,  I'll  make  you 
bow !  " 

And  it  made  them  bow  without  much 

ado, 
Or    it    crack'd    their    great    branches 

through  and  through. 
Then  it  rush'd  like  a  monster  on  cottage 

and  farm, 
Strildng  their  dwellings   with  sudden 

alarm  ; 
And  they  ran  out  Uke  beea  in  a  mid- 
summer swarm. 
There  were  dames  with  their  kerchiefs 

tied  over  their  caps, 
To  see  if  their  poultry  were  fi-ee  from 

mis! 


The  turkeys  they  gobbled,  the  geese 

scream'd  aloud. 
And  the  hens  crept  to  roost  in  a  terri- 
fied crowd ; 
There  was  rearing  of  ladders,  and  logs 

laying  on. 
Where    the     thatch    from     the    roof 

thi'eaten'd  soon  to  be  gone. 
But  the  wind  had  swept  on,  and  had 

met  in  a  lane 
With   a   schoolboy,   who   panted   and 

struggled  in  vain  ; 
For  it  toss'd  him,  and  twirl'd  him,  then 

pass'd,  and  he  stood 
With  his  hat  in  a  pool,  and  his  shoes 

in  the  mud. 

Then  away  went  the  wind  in  its  holiday 

glee. 
And  now  it  was  far  on  the  billowy  sea. 
And  the  lordly  ships  felt  its  staggering 

blow. 
And  the  little  boats  darted  to  and  fro. 
But  lo  !    it  was  night,  and  it  sank  to 

rest 
On  the  sea-bird's  rock  in  the  gleaming 

west, 
Laughing  to  think,  in  its  fearful  fun, 
How  little  of  mischief  it  had  done. 

WiUiam  Howitt. 


WHICH   WAY   DOES   THE 
WIND  BLOW  ? 

Which  way  does  the  wind  blow, 
Which  way  does  he  go  ? 

He  rides  over  the  water. 
He  rides  over  snow  ; 

O'er  wood  and  o'er  valley. 
And  o'er  rocky  heighth. 

Which  the  goat  cannot  traverse. 
He  taketh  his  flight. 

He  rages  and  toises 

In  every  bare  tree. 
As,  if  you  look  upwards. 

You  plainly  may  see. 

But  whence  he  both  cometh 

And  wither  he  goes, 
There's  never  a  scholar 

In  England  that  knows. 

Lucy  Aikin. 


THE    SirOW-FIiAKB. 

"  Now,  if  I  fall,  will  it  be  my  lot 

To  be  cast  in  some  low  and  lonely  spot. 

To  melt  and  sink  unseen  or  forgot  ? 

And  then  will  my  course  be  ended  ?  " 
'Twas  thus  a  feathery  Snow-flake  said, 
As  through  the  measureless  space  it 

strayed. 
Or,  as  half  by  dalliance,  half  afraid. 

It  seemed  in  mid-air  suspended. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  the  Earth,  "  thou  shalt 

not  lie. 
Neglected    and    lone,    on    my    lap    to 

die. 
Thou  pure  and  delicate  child  of  the 

sky. 
For  thou  wilt  be  safe  in  my  keeping  ; 
But  then  I  must  give  thee  a  lovelier 

form  ; 
Thou'lt  not  be  a  part  of  the  wintry 

storm. 
But   revive    when   the   sunbeams    are 

yellow  and  warm 
And  the  flowers  from  my  bosom  are 

peeping 


The   Seasons. 


161 


"  And  then  thou  shalt  have  thy  choice 

to  be 
Restored   in   the   lily   that  decks    the 

lea, 
In  the  jessamine  bloom,  the  anemone. 
Or  aught  of  thy  spotless  whiteness  ; 
To   melt,  and   be   c£ist,  in   a  glittering 

bead, 
With  the  pearls  that  the  night  scatters 

over  the  mead 
In  the  cup  where  the  bee  and  the  fire- 

Hy  feed. 
Regaining  thy  dazzling  brightness ; 

"To    wake    and    be   raised    from  thy 
transient  sleep. 

When  Viola's  mild  blue  eye  shall  weep. 

In    a   tremulous    tear,    or   a    diamond 
leaf 
In  a  drop  from  the  unlocked  foun- 
tain : 

Or,  lea\  ing    the    valley,  the  meadow, 
and  heatii, 

The    streamlet,    the    flowers,    and    all 
beneath. 

To    go    and    be    wove    in    the    silvery 
wreath 
Encircling  the  brow  of  the  mountain. 

"  Or  wouldst  thou  return  to  a  home 

in  the  sUies, 
To  shine  in  the  iris  I'll  let  thee  arise. 
And  appear  in  the  many  and  glorious 

dyes 
A  pencil  of  sunbeams  is  blending. 
Eut,  true,   fair  thing,   as  my  name  is 

Earth, 
I'll  give  thee  a  new  and  vernal  birth, 
Wlun   thou  shalt  recover  thy  primal 

worth. 
And  never  regret  descending." 

"  Then  I  will  drop,"  said  the  trusting 

flake  ; 
"  But  bear  it  in  mind  that  the  choice  I 

make 
Is  not  in  the  flowers  nor  dew  to  awake. 
Nor  the  mist  that  shall  pass  with  the 

morning  : 
For,  things  of  thyself,  they  expire  with 

thee  ; 
IJut  those  that  are  lent  from  on  high, 

like  me. 
They  rise  and  will  live,  from  the  dust 

set  free. 
To  the  regions  above  returning. 


"  And  if  true  to  thy  word,  and  just 

thou  art. 
Like  the  spirit  that  dwells  in  the  holiest 

heart, 
Unsullied   by  thee,   thou   wilt  let  me 

depart, 
And  return  to  my  native  heaven  ; 
For  I  would  be  placed  in  the  beautiful 

bow. 
From   time  to  time,  in  thy  sight  to 

glow. 
So   thou   mayest  remember   the   flake 

of  snow 
By  the  promise  that  God  hath  given." 

Hannah  Flagg  Oovld. 

THE   FBOST. 
The  Frost  looked  forth,  one  still  clear 

night. 
And  wliispered,  "  Now  I  shall  be  out 

of  sight ; 
So  through   the   valley   and  over  the 

height. 
In  silence  I'll  take  my  way  : 
I  will  not  go  on  like  that  blustering 

train. 
The  wind  and  the  snow,  the  hail  and 

the  rain. 
Who  make  so  much  bustle  and  noise  in 

vain. 
But  I'll  be  as  busy  as  they." 

Then  he  flew  to  the  mountain  and  pow- 
dered its  crest ; 
He  lit  on  the  trees,  and  their  boughs 

he  dressed 
In  diamond  beads — and  over  the  breast 

Of  the  quivering  lake  he  spread 
A  coat  of  mail,  that  it  need  not  fear 
The  downward  point  of  many  a  spear 
That  hung  on  its  margin  far  and  near, 

Where  a  rock  could  rear  its  head. 

He  went  to  the  windows  of  those  who 

slept. 
And  over  each  pane,  like  a  fairy,  crept ; 
Wherever   he    breathed,    wherever   he 

slept. 
By  the  light  of  the  moon  were  seen 
Most     beautiful     things — there    were 

flowers  and  trees  ; 
There  were  bevies  of  birds  and  swarms 

of  bees  ; 
There   were   cities    with    temples   and 

towers,  and  these 
All  pictured  in  silver  sheen  | 

II 


162 


Poems   for   Children. 


But  he  did  one  thing  that  was  hai  dly 

fair  ; 
He  peeped  in  the  cupboard,  and  find- 
ing there 
That    all    had    forgotten    for   him    to 
prepare — 
"  Now  just  to  set  them  a-thinking, 
I'll  bite  this  basket  of  fruit,"  said  he, 
"  This    costly    pitcher    I'll    burst    in 

three. 
And   the   glass   of   water   they've   lolt 
for  me 
Shall     'tchichl'  to   tell    them    I'm 
drinking." 

Hannah  Flagg  Gould, 


INDIA. 

Where  sacred  Ganges  pours  along  the 

plain, 
And   Indus  rolls  to  swell  the  eastern 

main. 
What   awful   scenes    the  curious  mind 

delight, 
What  wonders  burst  upon  the  dazzled 

sight ! 
There  giant  palms  lift  high  their  tufted 

heads. 
The  plantain  wide    his  graceful  foliage 

spreads, 
Wild  in  the  woods  the  active  monkey 

springs, 
The  chattering  parrot  claps  his  painted 

wings  ; 
'Mid  tall  bamboos  lies  hid  the  deadly 

snake. 
The   tiger     couches    in     the     tangled 

brake  ; 
The  spotted  axis  bounds  in  fear  away, 
The  leopard  darts  on  his  defenceless 

prey. 
'Mid  reedy  pools  and   ancient  forests 

rude. 
Cool  peaceful  haunts  of  awful  solitude  ! 
The  huge  rhinoceros  rends  the  crashing 

boughs, 
And     stately     elephants     untroubled 

browse. 
Two    tyrant    seasons    rule    the    wide 

domain, 
Scorch  with  dry  heat,  or  drench  with 

floods  of  rain : 
Now,     feverisii     herds    rush    madding 

o'or  the  plains, 


And  cool  in  shady  streams  their  throb- 

l)ing  veins  ; 
Tiie  birds  drop  lifeless  from  the  silent 

spray, 
And   nature   faints   beneath   the  fiery 

day; 
Tlien  bursts  the  deluge  on  the  sinking 

shore. 
And    teeming   plenty   empties   all   her 

store. 

Lucy  At  kin. 


CONSTANTINOPLE. 

Whkre  the  Thracian  channel  roars 
On  lordly  Europe's  eastern  shores. 
Where  the  proudly  jutting  land 
Frowns  on  Asia's  western  strand. 
High  on  seven  hills  is  seen  to  shine 
The  second  Rome  of  Constantine. 
Beneath  her  feet,  with  graceful  pride, 
Propontis  spreads  his  ample  tide  ; 
His  fertile  banks  profusely  pour 
Of  luscious  fruits  a  varied  store  ; 
Rich  with  a  thousand  glittering  dyes. 
His  flood  a  finny  shoal  supplies  ; 
AVhile  crowding  sails  on  rapid  wing 
The  rifled  south's  bright  treasures  bring 
With  crescents  gleaming  to  the  skies. 
Mosques  and  minarets  arise  ; 
Mounted  on  whose  topmost  wall, 
The  turban'd  priests  to  worship  call. 
The  mournful  cypress  rises  round. 
Tapering  from  tlie  burial-ground  ; 
Olympus,  ever  capped  with  snow. 
Crowns  the  busy  scene  below. 


Lucy  Aikin. 


liAPLAND. 

"  With  blue  cold  nose  and  WTinkled 

brow, 
Traveller,  whence  comest  thou  ?  " 
"  From  Lapland's  woods  and  hills  of 

frost,  - 

By  the  rapid  reindeer  crost ;  fl 

Where    tapering    grows    the    gloom  v      f 

fir 
And  the  stunted  juniper  ; 
Where  the  wild  hare  and  the  crow 
Whiten  in  surrounding  snow  ; 


The  Seasons. 


163 


Where  the  shivering  huntsmen  tear 
His  fur  coat  from  the  grim  white  bear  ; 
Where  the  wolf  and  arctic  fox 
Prowl  among  the  lonely  rocLs  ; 
And  tardy  suns  to  deserts  drear 
Give  days  and  nights  of  half-a-year ; 
— From  icy  oceans,  where  the  whale 
Tosses  in  foam  liis  lashing  tail ; 
Where  the  snorting  sea-horse  shows 
His  ivory  teeth  in  grinning  rows  ; 
Where,    tumbling    in    their    seal-skin 

boat. 
Fearless  the  hungry  fishers  float, 
And  from  teeming  seas  supply 
The  food  their  niggard  plains  deny." 

Lucy  Aikin, 


He  sat  him  down  beneath  cur  tree. 
For  weary,  sad,  and  faint  was  he  : 
And,  ah  !    no  wife  nor  mother's  care 
For  him  the  milk  and  corn  prepare. 

CHORUS. 

The  white  man  shall  our  pity  share  ; 
Alas  !   no  wife  nor  mother's  care 
For  him  the  milk  and  corn  prepare. 

The  storm  is  o'er,  the  tempest  past. 
And    mercy's    voice    has    hushed    the 

blast ; 
The  wind  is  heard  in  whispers  low. 
The  white  man  far  away  must  go  : 
But  ever  in  his  heart  will  bear 
Remembrance  of  the  negro's  care. 


THE  TRAVEIiLEB,  IN  AFRICA. 

A    NEGRO    SONG. 

The  loud   wind   roared,   the  rain   fell 

fast, ' 
The  white  man  yielded  to  the  blast ; 


CHORUS. 

Go  !    white   man,   go  !     but  with   thee 

bear 
The  negro's  wish,  the  negro's  prayer, 
Kemembrance  of  the  negro's  care. 

Georyiaua,  Duchess  oj  iJf.ioushite 


TI' 


FIELDS  AND  WOODS. 


THE 


BARIiEY-MOWERS' 
SONG. 


Barley-mowees,  here  we  stand, 
One,  two,  three,  a  steady  band  ; 
True  of  heart,  and  strong  of  limb, 
Ready  in  our  harvest  trim  ; 
All  a-row  with  spirits  blithe, 
Now  we  whet  the  bended  scythe, 
Rink-a-tinh,  rink-a-tink,   rink-a-tink-a- 
tink  ! 

Side  by  side,  now  bending  low, 
Down  the  swaths  of  barley  go. 
Stroke  by  stroke,  as  true  as  chime 
Of  the  bells,  we  keep  in  time  ; 
Then  we  whet  the  ringing  scythe. 
Standing  'mid  the  barley  lithe, 
Rink-n-iink,   rink-a-tink,   rink-a-tink-a- 
link  ! 

Barley-mowers  must  be  tnie. 
Keeping  still  the  end  in  view. 
One  with  all,  and  all  with  one. 
Working  on  till  set  of  siui, 
Bending  all  with  spirits  blithe. 
Whetting  all  at  once  the  scythe, 
liivk-a-tink,   rink-a-tink,   rink-a-tink-a- 
tink  I 

Day   and   night,    and    night   and 

day. 
Time,  the  mower,  will  not  stay  ; 
We  must  hear  him  in  our  path 
By  the  falling  barley-swath  ; 
While  we  sing  with  voices  blithe, 
We  may  hear  his  ringing  scythe, 
lii)ik-a-tink,   rink-a-tink,   rink-a-tink-a- 

tink  1 

After  labours  cometh  ease  ; 
Sitting  now  beneath  the  trees, 
Romid  we  send  the  barley  wine 
Life-infusing,  clear  and  line ; 


Now  refreshed,  alert,  and  blithe. 
Rise  we  all  and  whet  the  scythe, 
Rink-a-tink,   rink-a-tink,   rink-a-tink-a- 
tink  ! 

Mary  Howitt. 

COBNEIEIiDS. 

In  the  young  merry  time  of  spring, 
When  clover  'gins  to  burst ; 

When  bluebells  nod  within  the  wood. 
And  sweet  May  whitens  first ; 

When  merle*  and  mavisf  sing  their  fill. 

Green  is  the  young  corn  on  the  hill. 

But  when  the  merry  spring  is  past, 
And  summer  groweth  bold. 

And  in  the  garden  and  the  field 
A  thousand  flowers  unfold, 

Before  a  green  leaf  yet  is  sere. 

The  young  corn  shoots  into  the  ear. 

And  then  as  day  and  night  succeed. 

And  summer  weareth  on. 
And  in  the  flowery  garden-beds 

The  red  rose  groweth  wan. 
And  hollyhocks  and  sunflowers  tall 
O'crtop  the  mossy  garden  wall. 

When  on  the  breath  of  autumn  breeze. 

From  pastures  dry  and  brown. 
Goes  floating  like  an  idle  thought. 

The  fair  white  thistle-down  ; 
Oh,  then  what  joy  to  walk  at  will 
Upon  that  golden  harvest  hill ! 
***** 
O  golden  fields  of  bending  corn 

How  beautiful  they  seem  ! 
The  reaper  folk,  the  piled-up  sheaves. 

To  me  are  like  a  dream  ; 
The  sunshine  and  the  very  air 
Seem  of  old  time  and  take  me  there  ! 


»  Merle— 6/af/t6ir<J, 


Mary  Hoicilt. 
t  Mavis— //i/'mj7». 


Fields  and  Woods. 


16^ 


THE    CORN    SONO. 

Heap  high  the  farmer's  wintry  board  ! 

Heap  high  the  golden  corn  ! 
No  richer  gift  has  autumn  poured 

From  out  her  lavish  horn  ! 

Let  other  lands,  exulting,  glean 

The  apple  from  the  pine, 
The  orange  from  its  glossy  green, 

The  cluster  from  the  vine. 

We  better  love  the  hardy  gift 

Our  rugged  vales  bestow. 
To    cheer    us    when    the    storm    shall 
drift 

Our  harvest-fields  with  snow. 

Through    vales    of    grass    and    meads 
of  flowers, 

Our  plough  their  furrows  made, 
While  on  the  hills  the  sun  and  showers 

Of  changeful  April  played 

We  dropped  the  seed  o'er  hill  and  plain 

Beneath  the  son  of  May, 
And    frightened    from    our    sprouting 
grain 

The  robber  crows  away. 

All  through  the  long,  bright  days  of 
June 

Its  leaves  grew  green  and  fair. 
And  waved  in  hot  midsummer's  noon 

Its  soft  and  yellow  hair. 

And  now  with  autumn's  moonlit  eves. 

Its  harvest-time  has  come. 
We  pluck  away  the  frosted  leaves, 

And  bear  the  treasure  home. 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier. 


THE    HOCK-CART,    OR 

HARVEST-HOME. 

Come,  sons  of  summer,  by  whose  toil 
We  are  tlie  lords  of  wine  and  oil ; 
By   whose   tough   labours   and   rough 

hands. 
We  rip  up  first,  then  reap  our  lands. 
Crown'd  with  the  ears  of  corn,   now 

come. 
And,  to  the  pipe,  sing  Harvest  Home  I 


Come  forth,  my  lord,  and  see  the  cart 
Drest  up  with  all  the  country  art :  — 
See,  hero  a  maukin,  there  a  sheet. 
As  spotless  pure  as  it  is  sweet ; 
The  horses,  mares,  and  frisking  fillies. 
Clad  all  in  linen  white  as  lilies  :  — 
The     harvest     swains     and    wenches 

bound 
For  joy,  to  see  the  hock-cart  crown'd. 

About  the  cart  hear  how  the  rout 
Of  rural  younglings  raise  the  shout. 
Pressing  before,  some  coming  after. 
Those  with   a  shout,   and   these   with 

laughter. 
Some    bless   the   cart,   some   kiss    tlie 

sheaves. 
Some  prank  them  up  with  oaken  leaves  ; 
Some  cross   the   fill-horse,   some   with 

great 
Devotion  stroke  the  home-borne  wheat ; 
While  other  rustics,  less  attent 
To  prayers  than  to  merriment. 
Run  after  with  their  breeches  rent. 

Well,  on,  brave  boys,  to  your  lord's 
hearth, 
Glitt'ring   with   fire,   where,   for   your 

mirth. 
You  shall  see  first  the  large  and  chief 
Foundation  of  your  feast,  fat  beef  ! 
With  upper  stories,  mutton,  veal. 
And  bacon,  which  makes  full  the  meal ; 
With  sev'ral  dishes  standing  by. 
As,  here  a  custard,  there  a  pie. 
And  here  all-tempting  frumenty. 
And  for  to  make  the  merry  cheer. 
If  smir Icing  wine  be  wanting  here. 
There's  that,   which  drowns  all  care, 

stout  beer ; 
Which    freely    drink    to    your    lord's 

health. 
Then    to    the    plough,    the    common- 
wealth, 
Next  to  your  flails,  your  fanes,  your 

fatts  ; 
Then  to  the  maids  with  wheaten  hats  ; 
To    the     rough    sickle,    and     crook' t 

scythe. 
Drink,  frolick,  boys,  till  all  be  blythe. 
Feed  and  grow  fat,  and  as  ye  eat. 
Be  mindful  that  the  lab'ring  neat. 
As  you,  may  have  their  fill  of  meat ; 
And  know,  besides,  ye  must  revoke 
The  patient  ox  unto  the  yoke. 
And  aU  go  back  unto  the  plough 
And  harrow,  though  they're  hanged  up 
now 


166 


Poems  for  Children. 


And,  you  must  know,  your  lord's  words 

true, 
Feed   him   ye   must,    whose   food   fills 

you  : 
And  that  this  pleasure  is  like  rain. 
Not  sent  ye  for  to  drown  your  pain. 
But  for  to  make  it  spring  again. 

Bobert  Herrick. 

A    BOY'S    SONG. 

Where  the  pools  are  bright  and  deep. 
Where  the  gray  trout  lies  asleep. 
Up  the  river  and  o'er  the  lea. 
That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

Where  the  blackbird  sings  the  latest. 
Where     the     hawthorn     blooms     the 

sweetest, 
Where  the  nestlings  chirp  and  flee. 
That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

Where  the  mowers  mow  the  cleanest, 
Where  the  hay  lies  thick  and  greenest. 
There  to  trace  the  homeward  bee. 
That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

Where  the  hazel  bank  is  steepest. 
Where  the  shadow  falls  the  deepest, 
Where  the  clustering  nuts  fall  free, 
That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

Why  the  boys  should  drive  away 
Little  sweet  maidens  from  the  play, 
Or  love  to  banter  and  fight  so  well. 
That's  the  thing  I  never  could  tell. 

But  this  I  know,  I  love  to  play. 
Through  the  meadow,  among  the  hay  ; 
Up  the  water  and  o'er  the  lea. 
That's  tbe  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

James  Hogg, 

BATHING. 

The  May  winds  gently  lift  the  willow 
leaves  ; 

Around  the  rushy  point  comes  wel- 
tering slow 
The  brimming  stream  ;    alternate  sinks 
and  heaves 

The  lily-bud,  where  small  waves  ebb 
and  flow. 
Willow  herb  and  meadow  sweet  ! 

Ye  the  soft  gales,  that  visit  there. 
From  your  waving  censers  greet 

With  store  of  freshest  balmiest  air. 


Come    bathe — the    steaming    noontide 
hour  invites  ; 
Even    in    your    face    the    sparkling 
waters  smile — 
Yet  on   the   brink  they   linger,   timid 
wights. 
Pondering  and  measuring  ;    on  their 
gaze  the  while 

Eddying  pool  and  shady  creek 
Darker  and  deeper  seem  to  grow : 

On  and  onward  still,  they  seek 
Where  sports  may  less  adventurous 
show. 

At  length  the  boldest  springs  :    but  ere 
he  cleave 
The  flashing  waters,  eye  and  thought 
grow  dim  ; 
Too  rash  it  seems,  the  firm  green  earth 
to  leave  : 
Heaven   is    beneath   him  :     shall   he 
sink  or  swim  ? 

Far  in  boundless  depth  he  sees 
The  rushing  clouds  obey  the  gale. 
Trembling    hands    and    tottering 
knees. 
All  in  that  dizzy  moment  fail. 

John  Kebh. 


UNDER  THE   GREENWOOD 
TREE. 

Under  the  greenwood  tree 
Who  loves  to  lie  with  me. 
And  tune  his  merry  note 
Unto  tlie  sweet  bird's  tliroat. 

Come     hither,     come     hither,      come 
liither  ; 
Here  shall  he  see 
No  enemy, 

But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

Who  doth  ambition  shun, 
And  loves  to  lie  i'  the  sun, 
Seeking  the  food  he  cats 
And  pleased  witii  what  he  gets. 

Come     hither,     come     hither,      come 
hitlier  ! 
Here  siiall  he  see 
No  enemy. 

But  winter  and  rough  weather. 


1 


William  Shaken peare. 


Fields  and   Woods. 


167 


THE   SHEPHEBD. 

How    sweet   is    the   sliepherd's   sweet 

lot; 
From    the  morn    to    the    evening    he 

strays  ; 
He  shall  follow  his  sheep  all  the  day. 
And    his    tongue   shall    be    filled    with 

praise. 

For  he  hears  the  lamb's  innocent  call. 
And  he  hears  the  ewe's  tender  reply  ; 
He  is  watchful  while  they  are  in  peace. 
For  they  know  when  their  shepherd  is 
nigh. 

William  Blake. 


SHEPHERD   BOY'S   SONG. 

He  that  is  down  needs  fear  no  fall ; 

He  that  is  low  no  pride  ; 
He  that  is  humble  ever  shall 

Have  God  to  be  his  Guide. 

I  am  content  with  what  I  have. 

Little  be  it  or  much  ; 
And,  Lord,  contentment  still  I  crave, 

Because  thou  savest  such. 

Fulness  to  such  a  burden  is. 

That  go  on  pilgrimage  : 
Here  little,  and  hereafter  bliss. 

Is  best  fiom  age  to  age. 

John  Bunyan. 


FOLDING   THE    FLOCKS. 

Shepherds  all,  and  maidens  fair. 
Fold  your  flocks  up  ;    for  the  air 
'Gins  to  thickan,  and  the  sun 
Already  his  great  course  hath  run. 
See  the  dew-drops  how  they  kiss 
Every  little  flower  that  is  ; 
Hanging  on  their  velvet  heads. 
Like  a  rope  of  crystal  beads. 
See  the  heavy  clouds  low  falling. 
And  bright  Hesperus  down  calling 
The  dead  night  from  underground  ; 
At  whose  rising,  mists  unsound. 
Damps  and  vapours,  fly  apace. 
Hovering  o'er  the  wanton  face 
Of  these  pastures,  where  they  come 
Striking  dead  both  bud  and  bloom : 
Therefore  from  such  danger  lock 
Every  one  his  loved  flock  \ 


And  let  your  dogs  lie  loose  without. 
Lest  the  wolf  corac  as  a  scout 
From  the  tnountain,  and  ere  day 
Bear  a  lamb  or  kid  away  ; 
Or  the  crafty,  thievish  fox 
Break  upon  your  simple  flocks. 
To  secure  yourself  from  these 
Be  not  too  secure  in  ease  ; 
Let  one  eye  his  watches  keep 
Whilst  the  other  eye  doth  sleep. 
So  you  shall  good  shepherds  prove. 
And  for  ever  hold  the  love 
Of  our  great  God.     Sweetest  slumbers 
And  soft  silence  fall  in  numbers 
On  your  eye-lids  !   so  farewell ; 
Thus  I  end  my  evening  knell. 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 


THE   SHEPHERD'S    ?ONQ. 

The  gowan  glitters  on  the  sward. 

The  lav'rock's  in  the  sky. 
And  Colley  in  my  plaid  keeps  ward. 
And  time  is  passing  by. 

Oh,  no  !   sad  and  slow  ! 
I  hear  no  welcome  sound. 
The  shadow  of  our  trysting  bush. 
It  wears  so  slowly  round. 

My  sheep- bells  tinkle  frae  the  west, 

My  lambs  are  bleating  near  ; 
But  still  the  sound  that  I  lo'e  best 

Alack  !    I  cannot  hear. 
Oh,  no  !    sad  and  slow  ! 

The  shadow  lingers  still, 
And  like  a  lanely  ghaist  I  stand. 

And  croon  upon  the  hill. 

I  hear  below  the  water  roar. 

The  mill  wi'  clacking  din, 
And  Luckey  scolding  frae  her  door 

To  bring  the  bairnics  in. 
Oh,  no  !   sad  and  slow  ! 

These  are  nae  sounds  for  me. 
The  shadow  of  our  trysting  bush. 

It  creeps  sae  drearily. 

I  coft  yestreen,  frae  Chapman  Tam, 

A  snood  of  bonny  blue. 
And  promis'd  when  our  trysting  cam'. 

To  tie  it  round  her  brow  ! 
Oh,  no  !    sad  and  slow  ! 

The  time  it  winna  pass  : 
The  shadows  of  that  weary  thorn 

la  tether'd  on  the  grass. 


1G8 


Poems  for  Children. 


0,  now  I  see  her  on  the  way. 

She's  past  the  witches'  knowe, 
She  climbing  up  the  brownie's  brae  ; 

My  heart  is  in  a  lowe. 
Oh,  no  !    'tis  not  so  ! 

'Tis  glamrie  I  ha'e  seen  ! 
The  shadow  of  that  hawthorn  bush 

Will  movo  nae  mair  till  e'en 

Joanna  Baillie. 


THE  SHEPHEBD'S  COT. 

My  banks  they  are  furnished  with  bees, 

Whose  murmur  invites  one  to  sleep 
My  grottoes  are  shaded  with  trees,  _ 

And  my  hills  are  white  over  with 
sheep. 
I  seldom  have  met  with  a  loss, 

Such  health  do  my  fountains  bestow  ; 
My  fountains  all  bordered  with  moss, 

Where    the    harebells    and    violets 
blow. 

Not  a  pine  in  the  grove  is  there  seen, 

But   with   tendrils    of   woodbine   is 
bound  ; 
Not  a  beech's  more  beautiful  green, 

But  a  sweet-briar  entwines  it  around. 
Not  my  fields  in  the  prime  of  the  year, 

More  charms  than  my  cattle  unfold  ; 
Not  a  brook  that  is  limpid  and  clear, 

But  it  glitters  with  fishes  of  gold. 

I  have  found  out  a  gift  for  my  fair, 

I    have    found    where    the    wood- 
pigeons  breed  ; 
But  let  me  such  plunder  forbear, 

She  will  say  'twas  a  barbarous  deed  ; 
For  he  ne'er  could  be  true,  she  averred, 

Who  would  rob  a  poor  bird  of  its 
young  ; 
And  I  loved  her  the  more  when  I  heard 

Such  tenderness  fall  from  her  tongue. 

Williani  8her)  stone. 


Hurling  the  hail,  and  sleeted  rain, 
Against  the  casement's  tinkling  pane;— 
The  sounds  that  drive  wild  deer,  and 

fox. 
To  shelter  in  the  brake  and  rocks, 
Are  warnings  wliich  the  shepherd  ask 
To  dismal  and  to  dangerous  task  ! 
Oft  he  looks  forth,  and  hopes,  in  vain, 
The  blast  may  sink  in  mellowing  rain  ; 
Till,  dark  above,  and  white  below. 
Decided  drives  the  flaky  snow. 
And  forth  the  hardy  swain  must  go. 

Long,  with  dejected  look  and  whine. 
To  leave  the  hearth  liis  dogs  repine  ; 
Whistling  and  cheering  them  to  aid. 
Around  his  back  he  wieathes  tVie  plaid  ; 
His  flocks  he  gathers,  and  he  guides 
To  open  downs,  and  mountain-sides. 
Where    fiercest    though    the    tempest 

blow. 
Least  deeply  lies  the  drift  below. 
The  blast,  that  whistles  o'er  the  fella. 
Stiffens  his  locks  to  icicles  ; 
Oft  he  looks  back,  wlule  streaming  far, 
His  cottage  \vindow  seems  a  star,— 
Loses  its  feeble  gleam, — and  then 
Turns  patient  to  the  blast  again. 
And,  facing  to  the  tempest's  sweep. 
Drives  through  the  gloom  his  lagging 

If  fails  iiis  heart,  if  his  limbs  fail, 
Benumbing  deatli  is  in  the  gale : 
His  paths,  his  landmarks,  all  unknown. 
Close  to  the  liut,  no  more  his  own, 
Close  to  the  aid  he  sought  in  vain. 
The  morn  may  find  the  stiffen 'd  swain  : 
The  widow  sees,  at  dawning  pale,  _ 
His  orphans  raise  their  feel)le  wail; 
And,  close  beside  him,  in  the  snow. 
Poor  Yarrow,  partner  of  their  woe. 
Couches  upon  his  master's  breast. 
And  licks  his  cheek  to  break  his  rest. 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 


THE  SHEPHEBD  IN  WINTEB. 

When  red  hath  set  the  beamless  sun, 
Through  heavy  vapours  dark  and  dun  ; 
When  the  tired  ploughman,  dry  and 

warm. 
Hears,  half-asleep,  the  rising  storm 


THE   BLOSSOM. 

Meery,  merry  sparrow, 
Under  leaves  so  green, 

A  happy  blossom 
Sees  you.  swift  as  aiTOW 
Seek  your  cradle  narrow 

Near  my  bosom. 


Fields  and   Woods. 


160 


Pretty,  pretty  robin. 
Under  leaves  so  green, 

A  happy  blossom 
Hears  you  sobbing,  sobbing, 
Pretty,  pretty  robin, 

Near  my  bosom. 

William  Blake. 


But  now  we  see  none  here, 
Where  silvery  feet  did  tread. 

And  with  dishevelled  hair 
Adorn  this  smoother  mead. 

Like  unthrifta,  having  spent 
Your  stock,  and  needy  grown. 

You're  left  here  to  lament 
Your  poor  estates  alone. 

Robert  Herrick 


TO  BliOSSOMS. 

Fair  pledges  of  a  fruitful  tree. 

Why  do  ye  fall  so  fast  ? 

Your  date  is  not  so  past. 
But  you  must  stay  yet  here  a  while 

To  blush  and  gently  smile. 
And  go  at  last. 

What,  were  ye  born  to  be 
An  hour  or  half's  delight, 
And  so  to  bid  good-night  ? 

'Twas  pity  Nature  brought  ye  forth 

Merely  to  show  your  worth, 

And  lose  you  quite. 

But  you  are  lovely  leaves,  where  we 
May  read  how  soon  things  have 
Their  end,  though  ne'er  so  brave  : 

And  after  they  have  shown  their  pride. 
Like  you,  a  wliile,  they  glide, 
Into  the  grave. 

Robert  Herrick. 


TO    MEADOWS. 

Ye  have  been  fresh  and  green  ; 

Ye  have  been  filled  with  flowers  ; 
And  ye  the  walks  have  been 

Where     maids     have     spent     their 
hours. 

You  have  beheld  how  they 
With  wicker  arks  did  come. 

To  kiss  and  bear  away 
The  richer  cowslips  home. 

You've  heard  them  sweetly  sing. 
And  seen  them  in  a  round  ; 

Each  virgin  like  a  spring. 
With  honeysuckles  crowned. 


A  G-ARDEN. 

A  SENSITIVE  plant  in  a  garden  grew. 
And  the  young  winds  fed  it  with  silver 

dew. 
And  it  open'd  its   fan-like  leaves   to 

the  light. 
And  closed  them  beneath  the  kisses  of 

night. 

And  the  Spring  arose  on  the  garden 
fair, 

And  the  Spirit  of  Love  fell  every- 
where ; 

And  each  flower  and  herb  on  Earth's 
dark  breast 

Rose  from  the  dreams  of  its  wintry 
nest. 

i):  *  *  *  * 

The  snowdrop,  and  then  Ihc  violet. 
Arose  from  the  ground  witli  warm  rain 

wet, 
And  their  breath  was  mix'd  with  fresh 

odour,  sent 
From  the  turf,  like  the  voice  and  the 

instruments 

Then  the  pied  wind-flowers  and  the 
tulip  tall. 

And  narcissi,  the  fairest  among  them 
all. 

Who  gaze  on  their  eyes  in  the  stream's 
recess. 

Till  they  die  of  their  own  dear  loveli- 
ness. 

And  the  Naiad-like  lily  of  the  vale. 
Whom  youth  makes  so  fair  and  passion 

so  pale. 
That  the  light  of  its  tremulous  bell  is 

seen. 
Through     their    pavilions    of    tender 

green. 


170 


Poems  for  Children. 


And  the  hyacinth,  purple    and  white 

and  blue. 
Which  flung  froni  its  bells  a  sweet  jieal 

anew. 
Of  music  so  delicate,  soft,  and  intense. 
It  was  felt  like  an  odour  within  the 

sense. 

***** 

And  the  jessamine  faint,  and  the  sweet 

tuberose, 
The    sweetest    flower    for    scent    that 

blows  ; 
And  all  rare  blossoms  from  every  clime 
Grew  in  that  garden  in  perfect  prime. 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley. 


Get  up,  sweet  slug-a-bed,  and  see 
The    dew-bespangling    herb    and 
tree  ! 
Each  flower  has  wept,  and  bowed  to- 
ward the  east. 
Above    an    hour   since,    yet   you    not 
drest — 
Nay,  not  so  much  as  out  of  bed  ; 
When  all  the  birds  have  matins 

said. 
And  sung  their  thankful  hymns ; 

'tis  sin, 
Nay,  profanation,  to  keep  in, 
Whenas    a    thousand    virgins   on  this 

day. 
Spring,  sooner  than  the  lark,  to  fetch 
in  May. 


GARDENING. 

Seest  thou  yon  woodland  child, 
How  amid  flowerets  wild, 
Wilder  himself,  he  plies  his  pleasure- 
task  ? 
That  ring  of  fragrant  ground. 
With  its  low  woodbine  bound, 
He  claims  :    no  more,  as  yet,  his  little 
heart  need  ask. 

There  learns  he  flower  and  weed 
To  sort  with  careful  heed  : 
He  waits  not  for  the  weary  noontide 
hour. 
There  with  the  soft  night  air 
Comes  his  refreshing  care  : 
Each  tiny  leaf  looks  up  and  thanlcs  him 
for  the  shower. 

Thus  faithful  found  awhile. 
He  wins  the  joyous  smile 
Of  friend  or  parent :   glad  and  bright  is 
he. 
For  when  his  garland  gay  • 

He  hears  the  kind  voice  say, 
"  Well  hast  thou  wrought,  dear  boy : 
the  garden  thine  shall  be." 

John  Keble. 


GOING  A-MAVinG. 

Get  up,  get  up,  for  shame  !  the  bloom- 
ing morn 
Upon    her    wdngs    presents    the     god 
unshorn  ; 
See  how  Aurora  throws  her  fair, 
Fresh-quilted  colours  through  the 
air. 


Rise,  and  put  on  your  foliage,  and  be 

seen 

To   come   forth,   like   the   Springtime, 

fresh  and  green, 

And  sweet  as  Flora.     Take  no  care 

For  jewels  for  your  gown  or  hair  ! 

Fear  not,  the  leaves  will  strew 

Gems  in  abundance  upon  you. 

Besides,  the  childhood  of  the  day  has 

kept. 

Against  you  come,  some  orient  pearls 
unwept. 
Come,  and  receive  them  while  the  I 

light 
Hangs    on   the   dew-locks   of   the 

night. 

And  Titan  on  the  eastern  hill 

Retires    himself,    or    else    stands 

still 

Till  you  come  forth  !     Wash,  dress,  be 

brief  in  praying. 
Few  beads  are  best,  when  once  we  go 
a-Maying. 

Come,  my  Corinna,  come ;  and  coming,] 

mark 
How   each  field   turns   a  street,   each| 
street  a  park. 
Made   green,    and    trimmed    with] 

trees  !     See  how 
Devotion     gives     each     house     &j 

bough 
Or  branch  !  each  porrli,  each  door,  j 

ere  this. 
An  ark,  a  tabernacle  is, 
Made  up  of  white-thorn  neatly  inter' 

wove, 
As  if  here  were  the  cooler  shades  oi 
love. 


Fields  and   Woods. 


171 


\ 


I 


Can  such  delifrhts  be  in  the  street. 
And     open     fields,     and     we    not 

see't  ? 
Come,  we'll  abroad,  and  let's  obey 
The  proclamation  made  for  May. 
And  sin  no  more,  as  we  have  done,  by 

staying. 
But,    my    f'orinna,    come,  let's    go    a- 
Mayiiig. 

There's  not  a  bndding  boy  or  girl,  this 

day. 
But  is  got  up,  and  gone  to  bring  in 
^Iay. 
A  deal  of  youth,  ere  this  is    come 
Back,  and  with  wliite-thorn  laden 

home. 
Some  Imve  despatched  their  cakes 

and  cream. 
Before  that  we  have  left  to  dream  : 
And  some  have  wept,  and    woo'd,  and 

plighted  troth. 
And    chose   their  priest,   ere    we    can 
cast  off  sloth. 
Many     a     green-gown     has     been 

given. 
Many  a  kiss,  both  odd  and  even. 
Many  a  glance,  too,  has  been  sent 
From   out   the   eye,   love's   firma- 
ment : 
Many  a  jest  told  of  the  keys  betraying 
This  niglit,  and  locks  picked,  yet  we're 
not  a-Maying. 

Eoberl  HerricL 


VIOLETS. 

Welcome,  maids  of  honour  } 

You  do  bring 

In  the  Spring, 
And  wait  upon  her. 

She  hath  virgins  many. 
Fresh  and  fair  ; 
Yet  you  are 

More  sweet  than  any. 

You're  the  maiden  posies  ; 

And  so  graced. 

To  be  placed 
'Fore  damask  roses. 

Yet,  though  thus  respected. 

By  and  by 

Ye  do  lie, 
Poor  girls,  neglected. 


Robert  Herrick, 


THE   BOSE   OF   MAY. 

Ah  !   there's  the  lily,  marble  pale. 
The  bonny  broom,  the  cistus  frail ; 
The  rich  sweet  pea,  the  iris  blue. 
The  larkspur  with  its  peacock  hue  ; 
All  these  are  fair,  yet  hold  I  will 
That  the  Rose  of  May  is  fairer  still. 

'Tis  grand  'neath  palace  walls  to  grow. 
To  blaze  where  lords  and  ladies  go  ; 
To  hang  o'er  marble  founts,  and  shine 
In  modern  gardens,  trim  and  fine  ; 
But  the  Rose  of  May  is  only  seen 
Where  the  great  of  other  days  have 
been. 

The    house    is    mouldering    stone    by 

stone, 
The  garden-walks  are  overgrown  ; 
The    flowers   are   low,    the   weeds    are 

high. 
The  fountain  stream  is  choked  and  dry. 
The  dial-stone  with  moss  is  green. 
Where'er  the  Rose  of  May  is  seen. 

The  Rose  of  May  its  pride  display'd 
Along  the  old  stone  balustrade  ; 
And  ancient  ladies,  quaintly  dight. 
In  its  pink  blossoms  took  delight ; 
And  on  the  steps  would  make  a  stand 
To  scent  its  fragrance — fan  in  hand. 

Long  have  been  dead  those  ladies  gay  ; 
Their  very  heirs  have  passed  away  ; 
And  their  old  portraits,  prim  and  tall. 
Are  mould'ring  in  the  mould'ring  liall  ; 
The  terrace  and  the  balustrade 
liie  broken,  weedy  and  decayed. 

But  blithe  and  tall  the  Rose  of  May 
Shoots  upward  through  the  ruin  grey  ; 
With  scented  flower,  and  leaf  pale  green, 
Such  rose  as  it  hath  never  been. 
Left,  like  a  noble  deed,  to  grace 
The  memory  of  an  ancient  race. 

Mary  Howitt. 


A   ROSEBUD. 

A  ROSEBUD  by  my  early  walk, 
Adown  a  corn-enclosed  bawk, 
fc>ae  gently  bent  its  thorny  stalk, 
All  oo  a  dewy  morning. 


172 


Poems  for  Children. 


Ere  twice  the  shades  o'  dawn  are  fled, 
In  a'  its  crimson  glory  spread. 
And  drooping  rich  the  dewy  liead, 
It  scents  the  early  morning. 

Within  the  bush,  her  covert  nest 
A  little  linnet  fondly  prest, 
The  dew  sat  cliilly  on  her  breast 
Sae  early  in  the  morning. 

So  thou,  dear  bird,  young  Jenny  fair. 
On  trembling  string,  or  vocal  air, 
Shall  sweetly  pay  the  tender  care 

That  tents  thy  early  morning. 

So  thou  sweet  rosebud,  young  and  gay, 
Shalt  beauteous  blaze  upon  the  day. 
And  bless  the  parents'  evening  ray 
That  watch  thy  early  morning. 

Robert  Burns. 


TO   A  PRIMKOSE. 

Welcome,    pale    Primrose !      starting 
up  between 
Dead  matted  leaves  of  aah  and  oak, 

that  strew 
The    sunny    lawn,    the    wood,    and 
coppice  through, 
'Mid  creeping  moss  and  ivy's  darker 
green ; 
How  much  thy  presence  beautifies 
the  ground  ! 
How    sweet    thy    modest,    unaffected 

pride 
Glows  on  the  sunny  bank,  and  wood's 
warm  side  ! 
And  where  thy  fairy  flowers  in  groups 
are  found. 
The     schoolboy     roams     enchantedly 
along, 
Plucking    the    fairest    with    a    rude 
delight : 
Wliile   the   meek   shepherd   stops   his 
simple  song. 
To  gaze  a  moment  on  the  pleasing 
sight ; 
O'er  joyed  to  see  the  flowers  that  truly 

brmg 
The  welcome  news  of  sweet  returning 
spring. 

John  Clare. 


WISHING. 

RmG-TENG  !     I  wish  I  were  a  Prim- 
rose, 
A  bright  yellow  Primrose  blowing  in 
the  Spring  ! 
The  stooping  boughs  above  me. 
The  wandering  bee  to  love  me. 
The  fern  and  moss  to  keep  across. 
And  the  Elm-tree  for  our  King  ! 


( 


Nay- 


I  wish  I  were  an  Elm- 


with 


green 


-nay  ! 
tree, 
A    great    lofty  Elm-tree, 
leaves  gay  ! 
The  winds  would  set  them  dancing. 
The  sun  and  moonshine  glance  in. 
The  Birds  would  house  among  the 
boughs, 
And  sweetly  sing  ! 

O — no  !     I  wish  I  were  a  Robin, 
A  Robin  or  a  little  Wren,  everywhere 
to  go  ; 
Through  forest,  field  or  garden, 
And  ask  no  leave  or  pardon. 
Till  Winter  comes  with  icy  thumbs 
To  ruffle  up  our  wing. 

Well— tell  !     Where  should  I  fly  to, 
Where  go  to  sleep  in  the  dark  wood  or 
deU? 
Before  a  day  was  over, 
Home  comes  the  rover. 
For  Mother's  kiss — sweeter  this 
Than  any  other  thing ! 

William  AUingham. 


BUTTERCUPS    AND    DAISIES. 

Buttercups  and  daisies. 

Oh,  the  pretty  flowers  ; 
Coming  ere  the  spring  time. 

To  tell  of  sunny  hours. 
While  the  trees  are  leafless. 

While  the  fields  are  bare. 
Buttercups  and  daisies 

Spring  up  here  and  there. 

Ere  the  snow- drop  peepeth. 

Ere  the  crocus  bold, 
Ere  the  early  priirurose 

Opes  its  paly  gold,— 


Fields  and   Woods. 


173 


Somewhere  on  the  sunny  bank 

Buttercups  are  bright ; 
Somewhere  'mong  the  frozen  grass 

I'eeps  the  daisy  wliite. 

Little  hardy  flowers, 

Like  to  children  poor, 
Playing  in  their  sturdy  health 

By  their  mother's  door. 
Purple  with  the  north-wind, 

Yet  alert  and  bold  ; 
Fearing  not,  and  caring  not. 

Though  they  be  a-cold  [ 

What  to  them  is  winter  ! 

What  are  stormy  showers  | 
Buttercups  and  daisies 

Are  these  human  flowers  ! 
He  who  gave  them  hardships 

And  a  life  of  care. 
Gave  them  likewise  hardy  strengtii 

And  patient  hearts  to  bear. 

Mary  Howitt, 


THE    BOSE. 

The  rose  has  been  washed,  just  washed 
in  a  shower, 
Which  Mary  to  Anna  conveyed. 
The  plentiful  moisture  encumbered  the 
flower. 
And    weighed    down    its    beautiful 
head. 

The  cup  was  all  filled,  and  the  leaves 
were  all  wet. 
And  it  seemed  to  a  fanciful  view. 
To  weep  for  the  buds  it  had  left  with 
regret. 
On    the   flourishing   bush    where   it 
grew. 

I  hastily  seized  it,  unfit  as  it  was, 
For    a    nosegay,    so    dripping    and 
dro^^^l'd, 
And   swinging   it   rudely,    too   rudely, 
alas  ! 
I  snapped  it — it  fell  to  the  ground. 

And  such,  I  exclaimed,  is  the  pitiless 
part 
Some  act  by  the  delicate  mind. 
Regardless  of  wringing  and  breaking  a 
heart 
Already  to  sorrow  resigned. 


This  elegant  rose,  had  I  shaken  .'t  loss. 

Might  have  bloomed  with  its  owner 

awhile. 

And  the  tear  that  is  wiped  with  a  httle 

address. 

May  be  followed  perhaps  by  a  smile. 

William  Cowper. 


THE  MAZE. 
FROM  THE   LATIN  OF   VINCENT  BOURNE. 

From  right  to  left,  and  to  and  fro. 
Caught  in  a  labyrinth,  you  go, 
And  turn,  and  turn,  and  turn  again. 
To  solve  the  mystery,  but  in  vain  ; — 
Stand  still  and  breathe,  and  take  from 

me 
A  clue  that  soon  shall  set  you  free 
Not  Ariadne,  if  you  met  her. 
Herself  could  serve  you  with  a  better. 
You  entered  easily — find  where — 
And  make  with  ease  your  exit  there. 


William  Cowper. 


PIEIiD    FLOWERS. 

Ye  field  flowers  !    the  gardens  eclipse 

you,  'tis  true. 
Yet,  wildings  of  Nature,  I  doat  upon 

you. 
For  ye  waft  me  to  summers  of  old, 
When  the  earth  teemed  around  me  with 

fairy  delight. 
And     when     daisies     and     buttercups 

gladdened  my  sight. 
Like  treasures  of  silver  and  gold. 

I  love  you   for  lulling   me   back  into 
dreams 

Of  the  blue  Highland  mountains  and 
echoing  streams — 
And    of    birchen    glades    breathing 
their  balm. 

While  the  deer  was  seen  glancing  in 
sunshine  remote. 

And  the  deep  mellow  crush  of  the  wood- 
pigeon's  note. 
Made  music  that  sweetened  the  calm. 


174 


Poems  for  Children. 


Not  a  pastoral  song  had  a  pleasanter 

tuiie 
Than  ye  speak  to  my  heart,  little  wild- 

ings  of  June ; 
Of  old  ruinous  castles  ye  tell. 
Where    I    thought    it   delightful    your 

beauties  to  find. 
When     the     magic     of     Nature     first 

breathed  on  my  mind, 
And  your  blossoms  were  part  of  her 

spell. 
Even  now  what  affections  the  violet 

awakes  ! 
What  loved  little  islands,  twice  seen  in 

their  lakes. 
Can  the  wild  water  lily  restore  ! 
What  landscape  I  read  in  the  primrose's 

looks. 
And    what    pictures    of   pebbled    and 

minnowy  brooks. 
In    the    vetches    that  tangled  their 

shore. 

Earth's  cultureless  buds,  to  my  heart 

ye  were  dear. 
Ere  the  fever  of  passion,  or  ague  of 

fear. 
Had  scathed  my  existence's  bloom  ; 
Once   I   welcome   you   more,   in   hfe's 

passionless  stage  ; 
With  the  visions  of  youth  to  revisit 

my  age, 
And  I  wish  you  to  grow  on  my  tomb. 

Thomas  Campbell. 


THE   BLTTEBELIi. 

The  Bluebell  is  the  sweetest  flower 
That  waves  in  summer  air  : 

Its  blossoms  have  the  mightiest  power 
To  soothe  my  spirit's  care. 

There  is  a  spell  in  purple  heath 

Too  wildly,  sadly  dear  ; 
The  violet  has  a  fragi-ant  breath. 

But  fragrance  will  not  cheer. 

The  trees  are  bai'c,  the  sun  is  cold, 

And  seldom,  seldom  seen  ; 
The  heavens  have  lost    their    isone  of 
gold. 

And  earth  her  robes  of  greeu. 


And  ice  upon  the  glancing  stream 
Has  cast  its  sombre  shade  ; 

The  distant  hills  and  valleys  seem 
In  frozen  mist  arrayed. 

The  Bluebell  cannot  charm  me  now. 
The  heath  has  lost  its  bloom  ; 

The  violets  in  the  glen  below. 
They  yield  no  sweep  perfume. 

But  though  I  mourn  the  sweet  Blue- 
bell, 

'Tis  better  far  away  ; 
I  know  how  fast  my  tears  would  swell 

To  see  it  smile  to-day. 

For,  oh  !   when  chill  the  sunbeams  fall 

Adown  that  dreary  sky, 
And  gild  yon  dank  and  darkened  wall 

With  transient  brilliancy. 

How  do  I  weep,  how  do  I  pine 
For  the  time  of  flowers  to  come, 

And  turn  me  from  that  fading  shrine. 
To  mourn  the  fields  of  home. 

Emily  Bronte. 


LESSONS  EKOM  THE  GORSE. 

Mountain  gorses,  ever  golden. 
Cankered  not  the  whole  year  long  ! 
Do  ye  teach  us  to  be  strong, 
Howsoever  pricked  and  holden. 
Like  your  thorny  blooms,  and  so 
Trodden  on  by  rain  or  snow, 
Up  the  hillside  of  this  hfe,  as  bleak  as 
where  ye  grow  ? 

Moimtain  blossoms,  shining  blos- 
soms. 
Do  ye  teach  us  to  be  glad 
When  no  summer  can  be  had. 
Blooming  in  our  inward  bosoms  ? 
Ye  whom  God  preserve th  still. 
Set  as  fights  upon  a  hiU, 
Tokens  to  the  wintry  earth  that  Beauty 
hieth  still ! 

Mountain  gorse,  do  ye  teach  us 
From  that  academic  chair 
Canopied  with  azure  air. 
That  the  wisest  word  man  reachL>3 
Is  the  humblest  he  can  speak  '. 
Ye,  who  five  on  mountain  peak. 
Yet  five  low  along  the  ground,  besid© 
the  grasses  meekl 


Fields  and  Woods. 


175 


Mountain  gorses,  since  Linn?RU3 
Knelt  beside  you  on  the  sod. 
For  your  beauty  thanking  God, — 
For  your  teaching,  ye  should  sec  us 
Bowing  in  prostration  new  ! 
Whence  arisen — if  one  or  two 
Drops    be    on    our    cheeks — 0,    world, 
they  are  not  tears  but  dew. 

Elisabeth  Barrett  Browning. 


TO  AN"  EARLY  PRIMROSE. 

Mild   offspring  of  a  dark  ami   sullen 

sire  ! 
Whose  modest  form  so  delicately  tine. 

Was  nursed  in  whirling  storms, 

And  cradled  in  the  winds. 

Thee,   when   young  Spring  first  ques- 
tioned Winter's  sway. 
And  dared  the  sturdy  blusterer  to  the 

m  fight, 

■        Thee  on  this  bank  he  threw 
To  mark  his  victory. 

In  this   low  vale  the  promise  of  the 

year. 
Serene  thou  openest  to  the  nipping  gale. 

Unnoticed  and  alone. 

Thy  tender  elegance. 

So  virtue  blooms,  brought  forth  amid 

the  storms 
Of  chill  adversity  ;    in  some  lone  walk 

Of  life  she  rears  her  head, 

Obscure  and  unobserved. 

While  every  bleaching  breeze  that  on 

her  blows, 
Chastens  her  spotless  purity  of  breast, 

And  hardens  her  to  bear 

Serene  the  ills  of  Ufe. 

Henry  Kirke  White. 


TO   THE    SMAIili    CEIiANDINE 

Pansies,  lilies,  kingcups,  daisies, 
Let  them  live  upon  their  praises  ; 

Long  as  there's  a  sun  that  sets, 
Primroses  will  have  their  glory  ; 

Long  aa  there  are  violets. 
They  will  have  a  place  in  storv  • 
There's  a  flower  that  shall  be  mine, 
Tis  the  little  Celandine. 


Eyes  of  some  men  travel  far 
For  the  finding  of  a  star  ; 

Up  and  clown  the  heavens  they  go. 
Men  that  keep  a  mighty  rout ! 

I'm  aa  great  as  them,  I  trow. 
Since  the  clay  I  found  thee  out. 
Little  Flower  !  I'll  make  a  stir, 
Like  a  sage  astronomer. 

Modest,  yet  withal  an  elf 
Bold,  and  lavish  of  thyself ; 

Since  we  needs  must  first  have  met, 
I  have  seen  thee  high  and  low. 

Thirty  years  or  more,  and  yet 
'Twas  a  face  I  did  not  know  : 
Thou  hast  now,  go  where  I  may, 
Fifty  greetings  in  a  day. 


Ere  a  leaf  is  on  a  bush, 

In  a  time  before  the  thrush 

Has  a  thought  about  her  nest, 
Thou  wilt  come  with  half  a  call. 

Spreading  out  thy  glossy  breast 
Like  a  careless  prodigal ; 
Telling  tales  about  the  sun. 
When  we've  little  warmth  or  none. 


Poets,  vain  men  in  their  mood  1 
Travel  with  the  multitude  : 

Never  heed  them  ;    I  aver 
That  they  all  are  w  anton  wooers  ; 

But  the  thrifty  cottager. 
Who  stii-s  httle  out  of  doors, 
Joys  to  spy  thee  near  her  home  ; 
Spring  is  coming,  thou  art  come  I 


Comfort  have  thou  of  thy  merit. 
Kindly,  unassuming  spirit ! 

Careless  of  thy  neighbourhood. 
Thou  dost  show  thy  pleasant  face 

On  the  moor,  and  in  the  wood. 
In  the  lane — there's  not  a  place 
Howsoever  mean  it  be. 
But  'tis  good  enough  for  thee. 


Ill  befall  the  yellow  flowers. 
Children  of  the  fiaring  hours  I 

Buttercups,  that  will  be  seen. 
Whether  we  will  see  or  no  ; 

Others,  too,  of  lofty  mien  ; 
They  have  done  as  worldings  do, 
Taken  praise  that  should  be  thine. 
Lattle,  oumble  Celandine  I 


176 


Poems  for  Children. 


Prophet  of  delight  and  mirth. 
Ill-requited  upon  earth ; 

Herald  of  a  mighty  band, 
Of  a  joyous  train  ensuing, 

Serving  at  my  heart's  command. 
Tasks  that  are  no  tasks  renewing, 
I  wiU  sing,  as  dost  behove, 
Hymns  in  praise  of  what  I  love. 

William  Wordsworth. 


MINE    HOST    OF    THE 
««  GOLDEN    APPLE." 

A  GOODLY  host  one  day  was  mine, 
A  Golden  Apple  his  only  sign. 
That  hung  from  a  long  branch,  ripe 
and  fine. 

My  host  was  the  beautiful  Apple-tree  ; 
He  gave  me  shelter  and  noimshed  nie 
With  the  best  of  fare,  all  fresh  and  free. 

And  light-winged  guests  came  not  a 

few. 
To  his  leafy  inn,  and  sipped  the  dew. 
And  sang  their  best  songs  ere  they  flew. 

I  slept  at  night  on  a  downy  bed 

Of  moss,  and  my  Host  benignly  spread 

His  own  cool  shadow  over  my  head. 

When  I  asked  what  reckoning  there 

might  be. 
He  shook  his  broad  boughs  cheerily  : — 
A    blessing    be    thine,    green    Apple- 
tree  ! 

Thomas  Westwood. 


TO  A  MOUNTAIN  DAISY. 

ON  TUKNING  ONE  DOWN  WITH  A  PLOUGH. 

Wee,  modest,  crimson-tipped  flower, 
Thou'st  met  me  in  an  evil  hour. 
For  I  must  crush  among  the  stouie 

Thy  slender  stem ; 
To  spare  thee  now  is  past  my  power ; 

Thou  bonny  gem  ! 

Alas  !  it's  no  thy  neebor  sMeet, 
The  bonny  lark,  companion  meet. 
Bending  thee  'mong  the  dewy  weet, 

Wi'  speckled  breast. 
When    upward    springing,    blithe    to 
meet 

The  purpling  east. 


Cold  blew  the  bitter  biting  north 
Upon  thy  early  humble  birth. 
Yet  cheerfully  thou  gUnted  forth 

Amid  the  storm ; 
Scarce  reared  above  the  parent  earth 

Thy  tender  form. 

The    flaunting    flowers    our    gardens 

yield. 
High  sheltering  woods  and  wa's  maun 

shield, 
But  thou,  beneath  the  random  bield* 

Of  clod  or  stane. 
Adorn'st  the  histie  stubble-field. 
Unseen,  alane. 

There,  in  thy  scanty  mantle  clad, 
Thy  snawy  bosom  sunward  spread. 
Thou  Uft'st  thy  unassuming  head. 

In  humble  guise  ; 
But  now  the  share  upteara  thy  bed, 

And  low  thou  hes. 


Robert  Burns. 


NARCISSUS. 

I  SAW  the  pride  of  all  the  meadows 

At  morn,  a  gay  Narcissus,  blow 
Upon  a  river's  bank,  whose  shadow 

Bloomed  in  the  silver  waves  'lelow. 
By    noontide's    heat    its    youth    was 
wasted, 

The    waters    as   they    passed    com- 
plained ; 
At  eve  its  glories  were  aU  blasted, 

And  not  one  former  grace  remained. 
While  the  wild  rose,  more  safely  groving 

Low  in  the  unaspiring  vale, 
Amidst  retirement's  shelter  blowing, 

Long  sheds  its  sweetness  on  the  gale. 


William  Cowper. 


THE  DAISY. 

ON  FINDING  ONE  IN  BLOOM  ON  CHRIST- 
MAS  DAY. 

There  is  a  flower,  a  little  flower, 
With  silver  crest  and  golden  eye. 

That  welcomes  every  changing  hour 
And  weathers  every  sky ; 

•  Shelter. 


Fields  and   Woods. 


177 


The  prouder  beauties  of  the  iield 
In  gay  but  quick  succession  shine  ; 

Race  after  race  their  honours  yield, 
They  flourish  and  decline. 

But  this  small  flower,  to  Nature  dear, 

While  moons  and  stars  their  courses 
run. 
Wreathes  the  whole  circle  of  the  year, 

Companion  of  the  sun. 
It  smiles  upon  the  lap  of  May, 

To  sultry  August  spreads  its  charms. 
Lights  pale  October  on  its  way. 

And  twines  December's  arms. 

The  purple  heath  and  golden  broom. 

On  moory  mountains  catch  the  gale. 
O'er  lawns  the  lily  sheds  perfume. 

The  violet  in  the  A'ale  ; 
But  this  bold  floweret  climbs  the  hill, 

Hides  in  the  forest,  haunts  the  glen, 
Plays  on  the  margin  of  the^rill. 

Peeps  round  the  fox's  den. 

Within  the  garden's  cultured  roimd 

It  shares  the  sweet  carnation's  bed  ; 
And  blooms  on  consecrated  ground. 

In  honour  of  the  dead. 
The  lambkin  crops  its  crimson  gem. 

The  wild-bee  murmurs  on  its  breast, 
The  blue  fly  bends  its  pensile  stem- 

Light  o'er  the  sky-lark's  nest. 

'Tis  Flora's  page  :   in  every  place 

In  every  season,  fresh  and  fair. 
It  opens  with  perennial  grace. 

And  blossoms  everywhere. 
On    waste    and    woodland,    rock    and 
plain. 

The  humble  buds  unheeded  rise  ; 
The  rose  has  but  a  summer  reign. 

The  daisy  never  dies. 

James  Montgomery. 


I   "WANDERED   LONELY   AS  A 
CLOTTD. 

I  WANDERED  loucly  as  a  cloud 

That  tloats  on  high  o'er  vales  and  hills, 

When  all  at  once  I  saw  a  crowd, 
A  host  of  golden  daffodils  : 

Beside  the  lake,  beneath  the  trees. 

Fluttering  and  dancing  in  the  breeze. 

Continuous  as  the  stars  that  shine 
And  twinkle  on  the  milky  way, 


They  stretched  in  never-ending  line 

Along  the  margin  of  a  bay  : 
Ten  thousand  saw  I  at  a  glance, 
Tossing  their  heads  in  sprightly  dance. 

The  waves   beside  them  danced,   but 
they 

Out-did  the  sparkling  waves  in  glee : — 
A  poet  could  not  but  be  gay. 

In  such  a  jocund  company  ; 
I  gazed — and  gazed — but  little  thought 
What    wealth    the    show    to    nie    had 

brought. 

For  oft,  when  on  my  couch  I  lie 
In  vacant  or  in  pensive  mood, 

They  flash  upon  that  iuAvard  eye 
Which  is  the  bliss  of  solitude  ; 

And  then  my  heart  with  pleasure  fills, 

And  dances  with  the  daffodils. 

WiUiam   Wordsworth. 


TO    DAFFODILS. 

Fair  daffodils,  we  weep  to  see 

You  haste  away  so  soon  ; 
As  yet  the  early  rising  sun 
Has  not  attained  his  noon  : 
Stay,  stay 
Until  the  hastening  day 
Has  nm 
But  to  the  evensong  ; 
And  having  prayed  together,  we 
Will  go  with  you  along  ! 

We  have  short  time  to  stay,  as  you. 

We  have  as  short  a  spring. 
As  quick  a  growth  to  meet  decay, 

As  you    or  anything. 
We  die 

As  your  hours  do  ;    and  dry 
Away, 

Like  to  the  summer's  rain. 
Or  as  the  pearls  of  morning  dew. 

Ne'er  to  be  found  again. 

Robert  Herrick. 


TO    THE    FRINGED    GENTIAN. 

Thou    bloasom    bright    with    autumn 

dew, 
And  coloured  with  the  heaven's  own 

blue. 
That  openest,  when  the  quiet  light 
Succeeds  the  keen  and  frosty  night. 

12 


178 


Poems  for  Children. 


Thou  comest  not  when  violets  lean 
O'er    wandering    brooks    and    springs 

unseen, 
Or  columbines  m  purple  dressed, 
Nod  o'er  the  ground-bird's  hidden  nest. 

Thou  waitest  late,  and  com'st  alone. 
When  woods  are  bare,  and  birds  are 

flown. 
And  frosts  and  shortening  days  portend 
The  aged  year  is  near  his  end. 

Then  doth  thy  sweet  and  quiet  eye 
Look  through  its  fringes  to  the  sky, 
Blue — blue — as  if  that  sky  let  fall 
A  flower  from  its  cerulean  wall. 

I  would  that  thus,  when  I  shall  see 
The  hour  of  death  draws  near  to  me, 
Hope,  blossoming  within  my  heart. 
May  look  to  Heaven  as  I  depart. 

William  Cullen  Bryant. 


THE  COFFEE   SLIPS. 

Whene'er  I  fragrant  coffee  drink, 
For  the  generous  Frenchman  think. 
Whose  noble  perseverance  bore 
The  tree  to  Martinico's  shore. 
While  yet  her  colony  was  new, 
Her  island  products  but  a  few. 
Two  shoots  from  off  a  coffee-tree 
He  carried  with  him  o'er  the  sea. 
Each  little  tender  coffee  slip 
He  waters  daily  in  the  ship. 
Anil  as  he  tends  his  embryo  trees. 
Feels  he  is  raising  'midst  the  seas 
Coffee  groves,  whose  ample  shade 
Shall  screen  the  dark  Creolian  maid. 
But  soon,  alas  !   his  darling  pleasure 
In  watching  this  his  precious  treasure 
Is  like  to  fade,— for  water  fails 
On  board  the  ship  in  which  he  sails. 
Now  all  the  reservoirs  are  shut, 
The  crew  on  short  allowance  put  ; 
So  small  a  drop  is  each  man's  share. 
Few  leavings  you  may  think  there  are 
To  water  these  poor  coffee  plants  ; — 
But  he  supjjlies  their  gasping  wants. 
Even  from  his  o\\n  dry  parched  lips 
He  spares  it  for  his  coffee  slips. 
Water  he  gives  his  nurslings  first, 
Ere  lie  allays  his  own  deep  thirst, 
Lest,  if  he  first  the  water  sip. 
He  l)ear  too  far  his  eager  lip. 
He  sees  tlw  m  droop  for  want  of  more  ; 


Yet  when  they  reach  the  destined  shore. 
With  pride  *4ie  heroic  gardener  sees 
A  living  sap  still  in  his  trees. 
The  islanders  his  praise  resound  ;  ' 

Coffee  plantations  rise  around  ; 
And  Martinico  loads  her  ships 
With   produce   from   those   dear-saved 
sUps. 

Charles  and  Mary   Lariih. 


THE    BROOM    ELOWEB. 

O  THE  Broom,  the  yellow  Broom  I 
The  ancient  poet  simg  it ; 

And  dear  it  is  on  summer  days 
To  he  at  rest  among  it. 


I  know  the  realms  where  people  say 
The  flowers  have  not  their  fellow  : 

I  know  where  they  shine  out  like  sims. 
The  crimson  and  the  ye  low. 

I  know  where  ladies  lie  enchained 

In  luxury's  silken  fetters, 
And    flowers    as    bright    aa    glittering 
gems 

Axe  used  for  written  letters. 

But  ne'er  was  flower  so  fair  as  this. 

In  modern  days  or  olden  : 
It  groweth  on  its  nodding  stem 

Like  to  a  garland  golden. 

And  all  about  my  mother's  door 
Shine  out  its  ghttering  bushes, 

And   do^vn   the   glen,   where   clear   as 
light 
The  mountain  water  gushes. 

Take  all  the  rest :   but  give  me  this. 
And  the  bird  that  nestles  in  it ; 

I  love  it,  for  it  loves  the  Broom — 
The  green  and  yellow  linnet ! 

Well^call    the    Rose    the    queen    of 
flowers. 

And  boast  of  that  of  Sharon, 
Of  Lilies  like  to  marble  cups. 

And  the  golden  rod  of  Aaron — 

I  care  not  how  these  flowers  may  be 
Beloved  of  man  or  woman  ; 

'I'he  Broom  it  is  the  tlower  for  me. 
That  groweth  on  the  common. 


I 


Fields  and  Woods. 


179 


O  the  Broom,  the  yellow  Broom  I 
The  ancient  poet  sung  it ; 

And  dear  it  is  on  summer  daya 
To  lie  at  rest  among  it. 

Mary  Howitt. 


The  mountain  stirr'd  its  bushy  crown, 

And,  as  tradition  teaches. 
Young  ashes  pirouetted  down, 

Coquetting  with  young  beeches : 
And  briony-vine  and  ivy-wreath 

Ran  forward  to  his  rhyming, 
And  from  tiie  valleys  underneath 

Came  little  copses  clinibing. 


ORPHEUS. 

ORPHEtrs  with  his  lute  made  trees, 
And  the  mountain-tops,  that  freeze. 

Bow  themselves,  when  he  did  sing  : 
To  his  music,  plants,  and  flower-^. 
Ever  spring  ;   as  sun  and  showers. 

There  has  been  a  lasting  spring. 

Everything  that  heard  him  play. 
Even  the  billows  of  the  sea, 

Hung  their  heads,  and  then  lay  by. 
In  sweet  music  is  such  art ; 
Killing  care  and  grief  of  heart. 

Fall  asleep,  or,  hearing  die. 

William  Shakespeare. 


The  linden  broke  her  ranks  and  rent 

The  woodbine  wreaths  that  bind  her, 
And  down  the  middle  buzz  !   she  went 

With  all  her  bees  behind  her : 
The  poplars,  in  long  order  due. 

With  cypress  promenaded. 
The  shock-head  willows  two  and  two 

'}y  rivers  gallopaded. 

Came  wet-shot  alder  from  the  wave, 

Came  yews  a  dismal  coterie  ; 
Each   pluck'd   his   one   foot  from   the 
grave, 

Pousetting  with  a  sloe-tree  : 
Old  elms  came  breaking  from  the  vine. 

The  vine  stream'd  out  to  follow. 
And  sweating  rosin,  plumb'd  the  pine 

From  many  a  cloudy  hollow. 


AMPHION. 

]My  father  left  a  part  to  me. 

But  it  was  wild  and  barren, 
A  garden  too  with  scarce  a  tree 

And  waster  than  a  warren  : 
Yet  say  the  neighbours  when  they  call. 

It  is  not  bad  but  good  land. 
And  in  it  is  the  germ  of  all 

That  grows  within  the  woodland. 

O  had  I  lived  when  song  was  great 

In  days  of  old  Amphion, 
And  ta'en  my  fiddle  to  the  gate, 

Nor  cared  for  seed  or  scion  ! 
And  had  I  lived  ^\■hen  song  was  great, 

And  legs  of  trees  were  limber, 
And  ta'en  my  fiddle  to  the  gate. 

And  fiddled  in  the  timber  ! 

'Tis  said  he  had  a  tuneful  tongue, 

Such  happy  intonation. 
Wherever  he  sat  down  and  sung 

He  left  a  small  plantation  ; 
Wherever  in  a  lonely  grove 

He  set  up  his  fojlorn  pipes, 
Qlie  gouty  oak  began  to  move. 

And  fiounder  into  hornpipes. 


And  wasn't  it  a  sight  to  see. 

When,  ere  his  song  was  ended. 
Like  some  great  landslip,  tree  by  tree. 

The  country-side  descended  ; 
And  shepherds  from  the  mountain-eves, 

Look'd     down,     half    pleased,     half 
frighten'd. 
As  dash'd  about  the  drunken  leaves 

The  random  sunshine  lighten'd  ! 

Oh,  natiare  first  was  fresh  to  men. 

And  wanton  without  measure, 
So  youthful  and  so  flexile  then. 

You  moved  her  at  your  pleasure. 
Twang    out,    my    fiddle  !     shake    the 
twigs. 

And  make  her  dance  attendance  ; 
Blow,  flute,  and  stir  the  stiff-set  sprigs 

And  scirrhous  roots  and  tendons. 

'Tis  vain  !   in  such  a  brassy  age 

I  could  not  move  a  thistle  ; 
The  very  sparrows  in  the  hedg 

Scarce  answer  to  my  whistle  ; 
Or  at  the  most,  when  three-parts  sick 

With  strumming  and  with  scraping, 
A  jackass  hee-haws  from  the  rick. 

The  passive  oxen  gaping. 

12* 


180 


Poems  for  Children 


But  what  is  that  I  hear  ?  a  sound 

Like  sleeply  counsel  pleading  : 
0  Lord  ! — 'tis  my  neighbour's  ground, 

The  modern  Muses  reading. 
They  read  Botanic  Treatises, 

And  Works  on  Gardening  thro'  there 
And  Methods  of  transplanting  trees, 

To  look  as  if  they  grew  there. 

The  wither'd  misses  !    how  they  prose 

O'er  books  of  travell'd  seamen, 
And  show  you  slips  of  all  that  grows 

From  England  to  Van  Dieman. 
They  read   in   arbours   dipt  and   cut. 

And  alleys,  faded  places. 
By  squares  of  tropic  summer  shut 

And  warm'd  in  crystal  cases. 

But  these  the'  fed  with  careful  dirt. 

Are  neither  green  nor  sappy  ; 
Half-conscious  of  the  garden-squirt. 

The  spindlings  look  unhappy. 
Better  to  me  the  meanest  weed 

That  blows  upon  its  mountain. 
The  vilest  herb  that  runs  to  seed 

Beside  its  native  fountain. 

And  I  must  work  thro'  months  of  toil. 

And  years  of  cultivation, 
Upon  my  proper  patch  of  soil 

To  grow  my  own  plantation. 
I'll  take  the  showers  as  thej'  fall, 

I  will  not  vex  my  bosom  : 
Enough  if  at  the  end  of  all 

A  little  garden  blossom. 

Lord  Tennyson. 


THE  FATE   OF  THE   OAK. 

The  owl  to  her  mate  is  calling  ; 

The  river  his  hoarse  song  sings ; 
But  the  oak  is  marked  for  falling. 

That  has  stood  for  a  hundred  springs. 
Hark  !    a  blow,  and  a  dull  sound  fol- 
lows ; 

A  second — he  bows  his  head  ; 
A  third — and  the  wood's  dark  hollows 

Now  know  that  their  king  is  dead. 

His  arms  from  their  trunk  are  riven  ; 

His  body  all  barked  and  squared  ; 
And  he's  now,  like  a  felon,  driven 

In  chains  to  the  strong  dock-yard  1 


He's   sawn   through   the   middle,   and 
turned 
For  the  ribs  of  a  frigate  free  ; 
And   he's   caulked,   and   pitched,   and 
burned  ; 
And  now — he  is  fit  for  sea  ! 

Oh  !   now — with  his  wings  outspread 

Like  a  ghost  (if  a  ghost  may  be), 
He  will  triumph  again,  though  dead. 

And  be  dreaded  in  every  sea : 
The  lightning  will  blaze  about. 

And  wTap  him  in  flaming  pride  : 
And    the    thunder-loud    cannon    will 

shout. 
In  the  fight,  from  his  bold  broadside. 

And  when  he  has  fought,  and  won. 

And  been  honoured  from  shore  to 
shore ; 
And  his  journey  on  earth  is  done, — 

Why,  what  can  he  ask  for  more  ? 
There  is  nought  that  a  king  can  claim. 

Or  a  poet  or  warrior  bold. 
Save  a  rhyme  and  a  short-lived  name, 

And  to  mix  with  the  common  niuukl  ! 

Barry  Cornwall. 


THE  OAK  AND    THE   BEECH. 

Fob  the  tender  beech  and  the  sapling 
oak. 
That  grew  by  the  shadowy  rill. 
You  may  cut  down  both  at  a  single 
stroke. 
You  may  cut  down  which  j'ou  will. 

But  this  you  must  know,  that  as  long 
as  they  grow. 
Whatever  change  may  be, 
You   can   never   teach   either   oak   or 
beech 
To  be  aught  but  a  greenwood  tree. 

Thomas  Love  Peacock. 


THE   POPLAB   FIELD. 

The  poplars  are  felled,  farewell  to  the 

shade. 
And  the  whispering  sound  of  the  cool 

colonnade  ; 
The  winds  play  no  longer  and  sing  in 

the  leaves. 
Nor  Ouse  on   his   bosom   their  image 

receives. 


r 


Fields  and  Woods. 


181 


Twelve  years  have  elapsed,  since  I  last 

took  a  view 
Of  my   favourite  field,  and  the  bank 

where  they  grew  ; 
And  now  in  the  grass  behold  they  are 

laid. 
And  the  tree  is  my  seat,  that  once  lent 

me  a  shade. 

The    blackbird    has    fled    to    another 

retreat. 
Where  the  hazels  afford  him  a  screen 

from  the  heat ; 
And     the    scene,     where    his    melody 

charmed   mo   before. 
Resounds  with  his  sweet-flowing  ditty 

no  more. 

My    fugitive    years    are    all    hasting 

away. 
And  I  must  ere  long  lie  as  lowly  as 

they  ; 
With  a  turf  on  my  breast,  and  a  stone 

at  my  head. 
Ere  another  such  grove  shall  arise  in 

its  stead. 

The   change   both   my  heart  and   my 

fancy  employs, 
I  reflect  on  the  frailty  of  man,  and  his 

joys; 
Short-lived  as  we  are,  yet  our  pleasures, 

we  see. 
Have  a  still  shorter  date,  and  die  sooner 

than  we. 

William  Cowper. 


ENGLAND'S  OAK. 

Let  India  boast  its  spicy  trees. 

Whose  fruit  and  gorgeous  bloom 
Give  to  each  faint  and  languid  breeze 

Its  rich  and  rare  perfume. 
Let  Portugal  and  haughty  Spain 

Display  their  orange-groves  ; 
And  France  exult  her  vines  to  train 

Around  her  trim  alcoves. 

Old  England  has  a  tree  as  strong, 

As  stately  as  them  all. 
As  worthy  of  a  minstrel's  song 

III  cottage  and  in  hall. 
'Tis  not  the  yew-tree,  though  it  londs 

Its  greenness  to  the  grave  ; 
Nor  willow,  though  it  fondly  In-nds 

Ila  branches  o'er  the  wave  ; 


Xor  birch,  althou.;h  its  slender  tress 

Bo  beautifully  fair. 
As  graceful  in  its  loveliness 

As  maiden's  flowing  hair. 
'Tis  not  the  poplar,  though  its  heiglii 

May  from  afar  be  seen  ; 
Nor    beech,    although    its    boughs    be 
dif^ht 

With  leaves  of  glossy  green. 

All  these  are  fair,  but  they  may  fling 

Their  shade  unsung  by  me  ; 
My  favourite,  and  the  forest's  king. 

The  Hritish  Oak  shall  be  ! 
Its  stem,  though  rough,  is  stout  and 
sound. 

Its  giant  branches  throw 
Their  arms  in  shady  blessings  round 

O'er  man  and  boast  below  ; 

Its  leaf,  though  late  in  spring  it  shares 

The  zephyr's  gentle  sigh, 
As  late  and  long  in  autumn  wears 

A  deeper,  richer  dye. 
Type  of  an  honest  English  heart. 

It  opes  not  at  a  breath, 
But  having  open'd  plays  its  part 

Until  it  sinks  in  death. 

Its  acorns,  graceful  to  the  sight. 

Are  toys  to  childhood  dear  ; 
Its  mistletoe,  with  berries  white. 

Adds  mirth  to  Christmas  cheer. 
And     when    we    reach    life's     i:losing 
stage. 

Worn  out  with  care  or  ill. 
For  childhood,  youth,  or  hoary  age, 

Its  arms  are  open  still. 

But  prouder  yet  its  glories  shine, 

When,  in  a  nobler  form. 
It  floats  upon  the  heaving  brine 

And  braves  the  bursting  storm  ; 
Or  when,  to  aid  the  work  of  love. 

To  some  benighted  clime 
It  bears  glad  tidings  from  above. 

Of  Gospel-truths  sublime  : 

Oh  !   then,  triumphant  in  its  might, 

O'er  waters  dim  and  dark. 
It  seems,  in  Heaven's  approving  sigiit, 

A  second  glorious  Akic. 
On  earth  the  forest's  lionour'd  king  ! 

Man's  castle  on  the  sea  ! 
Wiio  will,  another  tree  may  sing, 

Old  England's  Oak  for  me  ! 

Bernard  Barton. 


182 


Poems   for   Children. 


YARDLY    OAK. 


Thou  wast  a  bauble  once  ;    a  cup  and 

ball 
Which   babes   might   play   with  ;    and 

the  thievish  jay. 
Seeking  her  food,  with  ease  might  have 

purloin'd 
The  auburn  nut  that  held  thee,  swal- 

owing  down 
Thy  yet  close- folded  latitiide  of  boughs, 
And    all    thine    embryo    vastness  at  a 

gulp. 
But    Fate    thy   growth    decreed :     au- 
tumnal rains. 
Beneath  thy  parent  tree,  mellow'd  the 

soil. 
Designed  thy  cradle ;    and  a  skipping 

deer. 
With  pointed  hoof  dibbling  the  glebe, 

prepar'd 
The  soft  receptacle,  in  which  secure 
Thy  rudiments  should  sleep  the  winter 

through. 

*  *  *  *  if  :¥ 

Thou  fell'st  mature,  and  in  the  loainy 

clod, 
Swelhng  with  vegetative  force  instinct. 
Didst  burst  thine   egg,   as   their's   the 

fabl'd  Twins, 
Now    stars  :      two     lobes     protiuding, 

pair'd  exact ; 
A  leaf  succeeded,  and  another  leaf, 
And     all     the      elements     thy     puny 

growth 
Fostering  propitious,  thou  becam'st  a 

twig. 

Time  made  thee  what  thou  wast — king 

of  the  woods  ! 
And  Time  hath  made  thee  what  thou 

art — a  cave 
For  owls  to  roost  in  !     Once  thy  spread- 
ing boughs 
O'erhung    the    champaign,    and     the 

numerous  flock 
That  grazed  it,  stood  beneath  the  ample 

cope 
Uncrowded,    yet   safe    shelter'd    from 

the  storm. 
No  flock  frequents  thee  now  ;  thou  hast 

outliv'd 
Thy  popularity,  and  art  become 
(Unless    verse    rescue    thee    awhile)    a 

thing 
Forgotten  as  the  foliage  of  thy  youth  1 


Wliile  thus  through  all  the  stages  thou 

hast  push'd 
Of    trceship — just    a   seedling,    hid    in 

grass  ; 
Then    twig ;      then    saphng,     and    as 

century  roll'd 
Slow  after  century,  a  giant-bulk. 
Of  girth  enormous  with  moss-cushion'd 

root 
Upheav'd    above   the   soil,    and   sides 

emboss'd 
With  prominent  wens  globose — till  at 

the  last. 
The  rottenness,  which  time  is  charged 

to  inflict 
On    other    mighty    ones,    found    also 

thee. 

William  Cowper. 


MUSTARD    SEED. 

Behold  this  ground  !     There's  notliing 

here 
Save  earth, — nor  hast  there  been  this 
year 

Grass,  moss,  nor  flo\Aer,  nor  weed. 
Yet  in  a  week,  b.ere  shall  be  seen 
Your  name,  dear  George,  in  leaves  of 
green, 

Spring  from  this  round  seed. 

Now  clear  and  plain  before  your  sigb.t. 
In    this    dark    mould    j'our    name    I'll 
write. 

There's  every  letter  clear — 
Now  till  the  lines  with  mustard  seed — • 
Well  done,  a  dunce  your  name  might 
read, 

So  plain  it  doth  appear. 

Cover  the  seeds  beneath  this  mould, 
That  loolvs  so   dark,   and   damp,   and 
cold. 

Until  not  one  is  seen. 
And  in  a  week,  I  dare  be  bound, 
The   name    of    Gkorge    will    here    bo 
found 

In  double  leaves  of  green. 

Though    I    cau    write    your    name 

gold, 
And  many  a  curl  and  flourish  bold 

Around  the  letters  throw  ; 
Were  I  a  thousand  years  to  try. 
To  make  a  plant  but  one  inch  high, 
I  could  not  make  it  grow. 


I 


Fields  and  Woods. 


183 


The  simplest  flower  by  which  we  pass 
Deep  buried  in  the  summer  grass, 

Man  hath  not  skill  to  make  ; 
Although  he's  power  to  build  a  town, 
He  cannot  form  the  thistle's  down. 

Which  every  wind  doth  9hal;e. 

Thomas  Miller. 


THE  RHODOBA. 

In  May,  when  sea-winds  pierced  our 

sohtudes, 
I  found  tlie  fresh  Rliodora  in  the  woods, 
Spreading  its  leafless  blooms  in  a  damp 

nook. 
To  please  the  desert  and  the  sluggish 

brook  : 
1'lie  purple  petals,  fallen  in  the  pool, 
Made    the    black  waters  with  tlieir 
beauty  gay ; 
Here    night    the     red-bird    comes    his 
plumes  to  cool. 
And  court  the  flower  that  cheapens  his 
array. 
Rliodora  !   if  the  sages  ask  thee  why 
Tiiis  charm  is  wasted  on  the  earth  and 

sky. 
Dear,  tell  them,  that  if  eyes  were  niade 

for  seeing, 
Tlien    beauty   is   its    own   excuse    for 

being. 
Why  thou  were  there,  0  rival  of  the 
rose  ! 
I    never    thought    to  ask ;    I  never 
knew, 
But  in   ray  simple    ignorance    suppose 
The  self-same   Power    that   brought 
me  there,  brought  you. 


Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 


THE    DEATH    OF   THE 
FLOWERS 

The   melancholy   days   are   come,    the 

saddest  of  the  year. 
Of  wailing  winds,  and  naked  woods,  and 

meadows  brown  and  sear. 
Heaped  in  the  hollows  of  the  grove, 

the  withered  leaves  lie  dead  ; 
They  rustle  to  the  eddying  gust,  and 

to  the  rabbits'  tread. 


The  robin  and  the  wren  are  flown,  and 

from  the  shrubs  the  jay. 
And  from  the  wood -tops  calls  the  crow. 

through  all  the  gloomy  day. 

Where  are  the  flowers,  the  fair  young 

flowers,  that  lately  sprang  and  stood 
In    brighter    liglit    and    softer    airs,    a 

beauteous  sisterhood  ? 
Alas  !    they  all  are  in  their  graves,  tlie 

gentle  race  of  flowers 
Are  lying  in  their  lowly  beds,  with  tlic 

fair  and  good  of  ours. 
The  rain  is  falling  where  they  lie,  but 

the  cold  November  rain. 
Calls  not,  from  out  the  gloomy  eartii, 

the  lovely  ones  again. 

The  wind-flower  and  the  violet,  they 

perished  long  ago. 
And  the  brier-rose  and  the  orchid  died 

amid  the  summer  glow  ; 
But  on  the  hill  the  golden-rod,  and  the 

aster  in  the  wood. 
And  the  yellow  sunflower  by  the  brook 

in  autumn  beauty  stood. 
Till  fell  the  frost  from  the  clear  cold 

heaven,  as  falls  the  plague  on  men, 
And  the  brightness  of  their  smile  was 

gone,  from  upland,  glade,  and  glen. 

And  now  when  comes  the  calm  mild 

day,  as  still  such  days  will  come. 
To  call  the  squirrel  and  the  bee   from 

out  their  winter  home  ; 
When  the  soimd  of  dropping  nuts  is 

heard,  though  all  the  trees  are  still. 
And   twinkle  in  the  smoky  light  the 

waters  of  the  rill. 
The  south  wind  searches  for  the  flowers 

whose  fragrance  late  he  bore. 
And  siglis  to  find  them  in  the  wood  and 

by  the  stream  no  more. 

And  then  I  think  of  one  who  in  her 

youthful  beauty  died. 
The  fair,  meek  blossom  tliat  grew  up 

and  faded  by  my  side  ; 
In  the  cold  moist  earth  we  laid  her, 

V  'en  the  forest  cast  the  leaf. 
And  we  wept  that  one  so  lovely  should 

have  a  life  so  brief  : 
Yet  not  unmeet  it  was  that  one,  like 

that  young  friend  of  ours. 
So    gentle    and    so    beautiful,    should 

perish  with  the  flowers. 

William  CuUen  Bryant. 


184 


Poems  for  Children. 


HIE    AWAY. 

Hie  away,  hie  away  ! 
Over  banli  and  over  brae, 
Where  tlie  copsewood  is  the  greenest, 
Where  the  fountains  gUsten  sheenest. 
Where  the  lady  ferns  grow  strongest, 
"\^'^le^e  the  morning  dew  lies  longest, 
Where  tlie  blackcock  sweetest  sips  it, 
^^'^lere  the  fairy  latest  trips  it : 
Hie  to  haunts  right  seldom  seen. 
Lovely,  lonesome,  cool,  and  green ; 
Over  bank  and  over  brae, 
Hie  away,  hie  away  ! 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 


HTTITTING  SONG. 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  ga^y. 

On  the  mountain  dawns  the  day ; 

All  the  jolly  chase  is  here. 

With  hawk  and  horse  and  hunting- 
spear  ! 

Hounds  are  in  their  couples  yelling, 

Hawks  are  whistling,  horns  are  Icnell- 
ing, 

Merrily,  merrily,  mingle  they. 

"  Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay." 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay. 

The  mist  has  left  the  nioimtain  gray, 

Springlets  in  the  dawTi  are  steaming. 

Diamonds  on  the  brake  are  gleamini!;. 

And  foresters  have  busy  been 

To  trace  the  buck  in  tliickct  green  ; 

Now  we  come  to  chant  our  lay, 

*'  Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay." 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay. 
To  the  greenwood  haste  away  ; 
W6  can  show  you  where  he  lies. 
Fleet  of  foot  and  tall  of  size  ; 
We  can  show  the  marks  he  made. 
When    'gainst    the    oak    his    antlers 

fray'd  ; 
You  shall  see  him  brought  to  bay. 
"  Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay." 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 


A-HTINTINQ  WE  WILL  GO. 

The  dusky  night  rides  doiRTi  the  sky. 

And  ushers  in  the  morn  ; 
The  hounds  all  join  in  glorious  cry. 

The  huntsman  winds  his  horn. 
And  a-hunting  we  will  go. 


The  wife  aroimd  her  husband  throws 
Her  arms  to  make  him  stay : 

"  My  dear,  it  rains,  it  hails,  it  blows  ; 
You  cannot  hunt  to-.day." 
Yet  a-hunting  we  will  go. 

Away  they  fly  to  'scape  the  rout. 

Their  steeds  they  soundly  switch; 
Some  are  thrown  in,  and  some  thrown 
out, 
And  some  thrown  in  the  ditch. 
Yet  a-hunting  we  will  go. 

Sly  Re3niard  now  like  lightning  flies, 
And  sweeps  across  the  vale  ; 

And  wlien  the  hounds  too  near  he  s|ne3. 
He  drops  his  bushy  tail. 
Tlien  a-hunting  we  will  go. 

Fond  echo  seems  to  like  the  sport. 

And  join  the  jovial  cry  ; 
The  woods,  the  hills,  the  sound  retort. 

And  music  fills  the  slty, 
^Hien  a-hunting  we  do  go. 

At  last  his  strength  to  faintness  worn, 
Poor  Reynard  ceases  flight ; 

Then,  hungry,  homeward  we  return, 
To  feast  away  the  night. 
And  a-drinking  we  do  go. 

Ye  jovial  hunters  in  the  morn 
Prepare  then  for  the  chase  ; 

Rise  at  the  sounding  of  the  horn, 
And  health  with  sport  embrace 
When  a-hunting  we  do  go. 

Henry  Fielding. 


THE  HTJNTER'S  SONG. 

Rise  !      Sleep  no  more  •     'Tis  a  noble 

morn  ! 
The  de-KS  hang  tliiok  on   the  fringed 

thorn, 
And   the   frost   shrinks    back,    like    a 

beaten  hound. 
Under  tlie  steaming,  steaming  ground. 
JJeliold     where     the     billowy     clouds 

flow  by, 
And  leave  us  alone  in  the  clear  gray 

sky! 
Our   horses   are  ready   and   steady, — 

So,  ho  ! 
I'm  gone  like  a  dart  from  the  Tartar's 

bow. 


Fields  and  Woods. 


18^ 


Ildrk,    hark!    who   calleih  the   maiden 

nlorn 
From  her  sleep  in  the  woods  and  the 
stubble  corn  ? 

The  horn — iJie  horn  I 
The  merry  sweet  ring  of  the  hunter's 
horn  I 

****** 

Sound,     sound     the     horn  !     To     tlie 

hunter  good 
What's  the  gully  deep,  or  the  roaring 

flood  ? 
Iliglit  o'er  he  bounds,  as  the  wild  stag 

bounds. 
At  the  heels  of  his  swift,  sure,  silent 

hounds. 
Oh  !    what  delight  can  a  mortal  lack, 
AVhen  he  once  is  firm  on  his  horse's 

liack, 
^\'ith  his  stirrups  short,  and  his  snaffle 

strong  ; 
And  the  blast  of  the  horn  for  his  morn- 
ing song  ! 
Uark.  hark !     Now  home  I    and  dream 

till  morn 
Of  tlie  bold  sweet  sound  of  the  hunter's 

horn  I 

The  horn — the  horn  ! 
Oh,     the   sound    of   all   sounds   is   the 
hunter's  horn  I 

Barry  Cornwall. 


UP,  TIP  !   YE  DAMES  AND 
LASSES   GAY! 

Vv,  up  !   ye  dames  and  lasses  gay  ! 
I     To  the  meadows  trip  away. 

'Tis   you    must    tend    the    flocks    this 

morn, 
And   scare   the  small   birds   from   the 
corn. 
Not  a  soul  at  home  may  stay : 
For  the  shepherds  must  go 
With  lance  and  bow 
To  hunt  the  wolf  in  the  woods  to-day. 

Leave  the  hearth  and  leave  the  house 
To  the  cricket  and  the  mouse  : 
Find  grannam  out  a  sunny  seat. 
With  babe  and  lambkin  at  her  feet. 
Not  a  soul  at  home  may  stay  : 
For  the  shepherds  must  go 
I  With  lance  and  bow 

■        To  hunt  the  wolf  in  the  woods  to-day. 

8.  T.  Coleridge. 


THE  HUNT   IS   UP. 

Ttie  hunt  is  up,  the  hunt  is  up, 

And  it  is  well-ingh  day  ; 
And  Harry  our  king  is  gone  hunting 

To  bring  his  deer  to  bay. 

The  east  is  bright  with  morning  light. 

And  darkness  it  is  fled  ; 
And    the   merry   horn   wakes   up    the 
morn 

To  leave  his  idle  bed. 

Behold  the  skies  with  golden  dyes 

Are  glowing  all  around  ; 
The   grass   is   green,    and    so   are   the 
treen 

All  laughing  at  the  sound. 

The  horses  snort  to  be  at  sport, 

The  dogs  are  running  free. 
The  woods  rejoice  at  the  merry  noise 

Of  Hey  tantara  tee  ree  ! 

The  sun  is  clad  to  see  us  glad 

All  in  our  lusty  green. 
And  smiles  in  the  sky  as  he  riseth  high 

To  see  and  to  be  seen. 

Awalce  all  men,  I  say  again, 

Be  merry  as  you  may  ; 
For  Harry  our  king  is  gone  hunting, 

To  bring  his  deer  to  bay. 


a  hawking  party  in  the 
oijDen  time. 

Hark  !  hark  !  the  merry  warder's  horn 
P'ar  o'er  the  wooded  hills  is  borne. 
And  then  out  breaks  a  general  din 
From  those  without,  as  those  within 
Upon  the  terrace  steps  are  seen 
In  such  a  bright  array  ! 

The    kenneled    hounds'    long    bark    is 

heard. 
The  falconer  talking  to  his  bird, 
The  neighing  steeds,  the  angry  word 

Of  grooms  impatient  there. 
But  soon  the  bustle  is  dismissed. 
The  falconer  sets  on  every  wrist 
A   hooded   hawk,    that's   stroked   and 

kissed 

By  knight  and  lady  fair. 


186 


Poems  for  Children. 


And  sitting  in  their  saddles  free. 
The  brave,  the  fair  of  high  degree, 
Forth  rides  that  gallant  company, 

Each  with  a  bird  on  hand  ; 
And  falconers  with  their  hawking  gear, 
And  other  birds,  bring  up  the  rear, 
And  country-folk  from  far  and  near 

Fall  in  and  join  the  band. 

And  merrily  thus  in  shine  and  shade. 
Gay  glancing  through  the  forest  glade. 
On  rides  the  nol«le  cavalcade, 

To  moorlands  wild  and  grey  ; 
And  then  the  noble  sport  is  high  ; 
The  jess  is  loosed,  the  hood  thrown  by  ; 
And  "  leurre  !  "  the  jolly  falconers  cry. 
And  wheeling  round  the  falcons  fly 

Impatient  of  their  prey. 

A  moment  and  the  quarry's  ta'en, 
The  falconer's  cry  sounds  forth  amain. 
The  true  hawk  soars  and  soars  agafti. 

Nor  once  the  game  is  missed  } 
And  thus  the  jocund  day  is  spent. 
In  joyous  sport  and  merriment : 


And  baron  old  were  well  content 
To  fell  his  wood,  and  pawn  his  rent. 
For  the  hawk  upon  his  wrist. 

Oh,  falcon  proud,  and  goshawk  gay, 
Your  pride  of  place  has  passed  away. 
The  lone  wood  is  your  home  by  day. 

Your  resting  perch  by  night ; 
The  craggy  rock  your  castle-tower. 
The    gay    green    wood    your    "ladies' 

bower," 
Your  own  wild  will  the  master  power 

That  can  control  your  flight ! 

Yet,  noble  bird,  old  fame  is  thine, 
Still  liv'st  thou  in  the  minstrel's  line ; 
Still  in  old  pictures  art  the  sign 

Of  high  and  pure  degree  ; 
And  still,  with  kindling  hearts  wc  read, 
How  barons  came  to  Runnymede, 
Falcon  on  T\Tist,  to  do  the  deed 

That  made  all  England  free  ! 

Mary  Howitt, 


HOME. 


THE    ECHOING   GREEN. 
The  sun  doth  arise 
And  make  happy  the  skies  ; 
The  merry  bells  ring 
To  welcome  the  spring  ; 
The  skylark  and  thrush. 
The  birds  of  the  bush, 
Sing  louder  around 
To  the  bells  cheerful  sound, 
While  our  sports  shall  be  seen 
Un  the  echoing  groen. 

Old  John  with  white  hair 
Does  laugh  away  care, 
Sitting  under  the  oak 
Among  the  old  folk. 
They  laugh  at  our  play 
And  soon  they  all  say  : 
"  Such,  such,  were  the  joya 
When  we,  all  girls  and  boys, 
In  our  youth-time  were  see" 
On  the  echoing  green." 

Till,  the  little  ones,  weary, 

Ko  more  can  be  merry  ; 

The  Sim  doth  descend. 

And  our  sports  have  an  end. 

Kound  the  laps  of  their  mothers. 

Many  sisters  and  brothers. 

Like  birds  in  their  nest, 

Are  ready  for  rest ; 

And  sport  no  more  seen 

On  the  echoing  green. 

William  Blake. 


DEAR  IS  MY  LITTLE  NATIVE 
VALE. 

Dkar  is  my  little  native  vale, 

The  ring-dove  builds  and  murmurs 
there  ; 

Close  by  my  cot  she  t«lls  her  tale 
To  every  passing  villager  ; 

The  squirrel  leaps  from  tree  to  tree. 

And  shells  his  nuts  at  liberty. 


In   orange  groves    and  myrtle-bowers 
That    breathe    a    gale    of    fragrance 
round, 
I  charm  the  fairy-footed  hours 

With     my     loved     lute's     romantic 
sound  ; 
Or  crowns  of  living  laurel  weave. 
For  those  that  win  the  race  at  eve. 

The  shepherd's  horn  at  break  of  day, 
The  ballet  danced  in  twilight  glade, 

The  canzonet  and  roundelay 

Sung  in  the  silent  greenwood  shade  ; 

These  simple  joys,  that  never  fail, 

Shall  bind  me  to  my  native  vale. 

Samuel  Rogers. 


A   WISH. 

Mine  be  a  cot  beside  a  hill ; 

A   beehive's   hum   shall   soothe    my 
ear  ; 
A  willowy  brook  that  turns  a  mill 

With  many  a  fall,  shall  linger  near. 

The  swallow,  oft,  beneath  my  thatch. 
Shall    twitter    from    her    clay-built 
nest ; 
Oft  shall  the  pilgrim  hft  the  latch. 
And    share    my    meal,    a    welcome 
guest. 

Around  my  ivied  porch  shall  spring. 
Each  fragrant  flower  that  drinks  the 
dew  ; 

And  Lucy,  at  her  wheel,  shall  sing 
In  russet  gown  and  apron  blue. 

The  village-church  among  the  trees. 
Where  first  our  marriage  vows  were 
given. 
With  Hierry  poiils  shall  swell  the  breeze 
And  point  with  taper  spire  to  Heaven. 
Hamud  Rogers. 


188 


Poems  for  Children. 


PliEASANT  THINGS. 

— 'Tis  sweet  to  hear 
At  midnight  on  the  blue  and  moon- 
lit deep 
The  song  and  oar  of  Adria's  gondoher. 
By  distance  mellowed,  o'er  the  waters 
sweep  ; 
'Tis    sweet    to    see    the  evening  star 
appear ; 
'Tis    sweet    to    listen    as    the    night 
winds  creep 
From  leaf  to  leaf,  'tis  sweet  to  view  on 
high 
The  rainbow,  bared  on  ocean,  span 
the  sky. 

'Tis   sweet   to   hear   the   watch   dog's 
honest  bark, 
Bay   deep-mouth'd   welcome   as   we 
draw  near  home  ; 
'Tis  sweet  to  know  there  is  an  eye  will 
mark 
Our  coming,  and  look  brighter  when 
we  come ; 
'Tis  sweet  to  be  awakened  by  the  lark, 
Or  lull'd  by  falling  waters  ;    sweet 
the  hum 
Of  bees,  the  voice  of  girls,  the  songs  of 
birds. 
The    lisp    of    children,     and    their 
earliest  words. 

Lord  Byron. 


A  TEBNABIE  OF  LITTLES. 

A  LITTLE  saint  best  fits  a  httle  shrine, 
A  little  prop  best  fits  a  little  vine  ; 
As  my  small  cruse  best  fits  my  little 
wine. 

A  little  seed  best  fits  a  little  soil, 
A  little  trade  best  fits  a  httle  toil ; 
As  ray  small  jar  best  fits  my  httle  oil. 

A  little  bin  best  fits  a  little  bread, 
A  httle  garland  fits  a  httle  head  ; 
As  my  small  stufiE  best  fits  my  little 
shed. 

A  httle  hearth  best  fits  my  httle  fire, 

A  little  chapel  fits  a  httle  choir  ; 

As  my  small  bell  best  fits  my  httle  spire. 


A  little  stream  best  fits  a  little  boat, 

A  httle  lead  best  fits  a  httle  float ; 

As  my  small  pipe  best  fits  my  httle  note. 

Robert  Herrick. 


THE   COUNTRY  LIFE. 

Sweet  country  hfe,  to  such  unknown 
Whose  fives  are  others',  not  their  own, 
But,  serving  courts  and  cities,  be 
Less  happy,  less  enjoying  thee  : — 
— Thou    never    plough'st    the    ocean's 

foam 
To  seek  and  bring  rough  pepper  home  ; 
Nor  to  the  Eastern  Ind  dost  rove 
To    bring    from    thence    the   scorched 

clove  ; 
Nor,  with  the  loss  of  thy  loved  rest, 
Bring'st  home  the  ingot  from  the  west : 
No  !   thy  ambition's  masterpiece 
Flies  no  thought  higher  than  a  fleece 
Or  how  to  pay  thy  hinds,  and  clear 
All  scores,  and  so  to  end  the  year  : 
But    walk'st    about    thine    own    dear 

bounds. 
Not  envying  others'  larger  grounds 
For   well   than    know'st   'tis   not   the 

extent 
Of  land  makes  hfe,  but  sweet  content. 
When  now  the  cock,  the  ploughman's 

horn. 
Calls  forth  the  hly-wristed  morn. 
Then  to  thy  cornfields  thou  dost  go. 
Which  though  weU  soil'd,  yet  thou  dost 

know 
That  the  best  compost  for  the  lands 
Is  the  wise  master's  feet  and  hands  : 
There  at  the  plough  thou  find'st  thy 

team. 

With  a  hind  whistling  there  to  them ; 
And  cheer'st  them  up,  by  singing  how 
Thy  kingdom's  portion  is  the  plough  ; 
This  done,  then  to  th'  enameU'd  meads  ' 
Thou    go'st,    and    as    thy    foot    there 

treads. 
Thou  seest  a  present  God-like  power 
Imprinted  in  each  herb  and  flower  ; 
And  smeU'st  the  breath  of  great-eyed 

kine 
Sweet  as  the  blossoms  of  the  vine  : 
Here   thou   behold'st   thy   large  sleek 

neat 
Unto  the  dew-laps  up  in  meat ; 
And  as  thou  look'st,  the  wanton  steer. 
The  heifer,  cow,  and  ox  draw  near, 


Home. 


189 


These  seen,  thou  go'st  to  view  thy  flocks 
Of  sheep,  safe  froni  the  wolf  and  fox. 
And  find'st  their  belhos  there  as  full 
Of  short  sweet  grass,  as  backs  with  wool ; 
And  Icav'st  them,  as  they  feed  and  fill, 
A  shepherd  piping  on  a  hill. 
For  sports,  for  pageantry  and  plays. 
Thou  hast  thy  eves  and  holydays  ; 
On  which  the  young  men  and  maids 

meet 
To  exercise  their  dancing  feet, 
Tripping  the  comely  country  round, 
AVith  dafTodils  and  daisies  crown'd. 
'Jhy    wakes,    thy    quintels,    here    thou 

hrst, 
'i'hy     May-poles    too     with     garlands 

graced. 
Thy  morris-dance,  thy  Whitsun-ale, 
Thy  shearing-feast,  which  never  fail. 
Thy  harvest-home,  thy  wassail  bowl, 
That's  toss'd  up  after  Fox'i'th'hole, 
Tliy  mummeries,  thy  twclth-tide  kings 
And  queens,  thy  Christmas  revcllings, — 
'J'hy  nut-brown  mirth,  thy  russet  wit, 
And  no  man  pays  too  dear  for  it : — 
To  these,  thou  hast  thy  times  to  go 
And  trace  the  hare  i'  th'  treacherous 

snow  ; 
Thy  witty  wiles  to  draw,  and  get 
Thy  lark  into  the  trammel  net ; 
Thou  hast  thy  cockrood  and  thy  glade 
To  take  the  precious  pheasant  made  ; 
Thy   lime-twigs,    snares,    and    pitfalls 

then 
To  catch  the  pilfering  birds,  not  men. 

0  happy  hfe  !  if  that  their  good 
The  husbandmen  but  understood  ; 
Who  all  the  day  themselves  do  please 
And  younglings,  with  such  sports  as 

these  ; 
And,  lying  down,  have  nought  t'affright 
Sweet  sleep,  that  makes  more  short  the 

night. 

Itoberl  Ucrrick. 


I  have 
A  maid,  my  Prue,  by  good  luck  sent, 

To  save 
That  little,  Fates  me  gave  or  lent : 

A   hen 
I  keep,  which,  crecking  day  by  day. 

Tells  M'hen 
She  goes  her  long  white  eggs  to  lay  : 

A  goose 
I  have,  which,  with  jealous  care. 

Lets  loose 
Her  tongue,  to  tell  what  danger's  near  : 

A  lamb 
I  keep,  tame,  with  my  morsels  fed, 

Whose  dam 
An  orphan  left  him  lately  dead  : 

A  cat 
r  keep,  that  plays  about  my  house, 

Grown  fat 
With  eating  many  a  miching  mouse  : 

To  these 
A  Tracy*  I  do  keep,  whereby 

I    please 
The  more  my  rural  privacy  : 

Which   are 
But  toys,  to  give  my  heart  some  ease. 

Where  care 
None  is,  slight  things  do  slightly  please. 

Robert  Uerrick. 


THE  OliD  CliOCK  ON  THE 

STAIRS. 

SoME\VHAT     back     from     the     village 

street 
Stands  the  old-fashioned  country  seat. 
Across  its  antique  portico 
Tall  poplar-trees  their  shadows  throw  ; 
And  from  its  station  in  the  hall 
An  ancient  time-piece  says  to  all — 
"  For  ever— never  ! 
Never — for  ever  !  " 


HIS    GBANGE,    OB   PRIVATE 
WEALTH. 

Though  clock 
To  tell  how  night  draws    hence,  I've 
none, 

A  cock 
I  have  to  sing  how  day  draws  on  : 


By  day  its  voice  is  low  and  light ; 
But  in  the  silent  dead  of  night. 
Distinct  as  a  passing  footstep's  fall 
It  echoes  along  the  vacant  hall, 
Along  the  ceiling,  along  the  floor. 
And  seems   to  say,  at  each  chamber 
door — 

"  For  ever — never  ! 
Never — for  ever  I  " 

"  His  spaniel. 


190 


Poems  for  Children. 


Through  days  of  sorrow  and  of  mirth, 
Through  days  of  death  and  days  of 

birth 
Through  every  swift  vicissitude 
Of  changeful  time,  unchanged  it  has 

stood, 
And  as  if,  Hke  God,  it  all  things  saw, 
It  calmly  repeats  those  words  of  awe — 
"  For  ever — never  ! 
Never — for  ever  1  " 


In  that  mansion  used  to  be 
Free-hearted  Hospitality  ; 
His  great  fires  up  the  chimney  roared  ; 
The  stranger  feasted  at  his  board  ; 
But,  like  the  skeletons  at  the  feast, 
That  warning  time-piece  never  ceased — 
"  For  ever — never  ! 
Never — for  ever  !  " 


There  groups  of  merry  children  played. 
There   youths   and   maidens   dreaming 

strayed  ; 
Oh  precious  hours  !     Oh  golden  prime, 
And  affluence  of  love  and  time  ! 
Even  as  a  miser  counts  his  gold, 
Those    hours    the    ancient    time-piece 

told— 

"  For  ever — never  ! 
Never — for  ever  1 " 


From  that  chamber,  clothed  in  white. 
The  bride  came  forth  on  her  wedding 

night; 
There,  in  that  silent  room  below. 
The  dead  lay  in  his  shroud  of  snow  ; 
And   in   the   hush   that   followed   the 

prayer, 
Was  heard  the  old  clock  on  the  stair — 
"  For  ever — never  ! 
Never — for  ever  1  " 


All  are  scattered  now  and  fled. 
Some  are  married,  some  are  dead  ; 
And  when  I  ask,  with  throbs  of  pain, 
"  Ah  !  when  shall  they  all  meet  again  !" 
As  in  the  days  long  since  gone  by. 
The  ancient  time-piece  makes  reply — 
"  For   ever — never  ! 
Never — for  ever  I  " 

Never  here — for  ever  there, 
Where  all  parting,  pain,  and  care. 
And  death,  and  time  shall  disappear, — 
For  ever  there,  but  never  here  I 


The  horologe  of  Eternity 
Sayeth  this  incessantly— 

"  For  ever — never  ! 
Never — for  ever  !  " 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


MY  PEETTY  CHIMNEY- 

OENAMENTS. 

"  I  HAVE  a  dog  who  never  barks, 

A  cat  who  never  mews, 

A  shoe- maker  who  never  works. 

Or  mends  a  pair  of  shoes  ; 

A  parrot  too,  who  does  not  talk. 
Nor  do  my  shepherds  ever  walk  ! 

"  Mister  Toby  see  stand 

With  a  jug  in  his  hand. 
How  many  years  there  he  has  stood  1 

Never  raises  the  mug 

But  keeps  it  so  snug  ! 
When  sober,  he  always  is  good. 

"  A  shepherdess  too. 

With  sheep  not  a  few. 
There  sits  on  my  shelf  with  a  smile, 

She  never  heeds  smoke. 

She  never  once  spoke. 
Or  ever  got  over  that  stile  I 

"  They're  aU  pretty  indeed 

And  none  I've  to  feed. 
Yet  not  one  would  reftise  a  nice  crust. 

So  all  I've  to  do 

Is  to  keep  them  in  view 
And  guard   them  from   breaking  and 
dust." 

Thus  Mary  cried. 
Then  heavily  sighed  ! — 
Her  father  was  pleased  at  the  whim. 
Of  addressing  thus  mere  chinaware 
But  guessed  well   her  thoughts  when 
she  sighed 
And  could  not  her  sorrow  well  bear. 

An  only  child  was  she. 
Brought  up  on  father's  knee. 

Nor  aunt,  nor  sistei',  no,  nor  mother 
knew, — 

Of  other  relatives  she  had  but  few, 
And  now  Uved  quite  alone, 
With  him,  who  loved  his  own  I 


1 


Home. 


191 


A  few  days  after — joy  to  see  ! 
Tho  little  girl  witli  company, 

And  all  alive  and  merry  ! 
Here  was  a  linnet  in  a  cage. 
There  was  a  parrot  sage, 

Eating  a  fine  red  cherry  I 

And  see  !  a  kitten  too  ! 

Her  tricks  not  few, — 
A  lovely  spaniel,  brovn  and  white. 
Now    bounded    in,    to    Mary's    great 
delight ! 

"  The  linnet  sang,  the  parrot  squall'd. 
Young  puss  climbed  on  her  knee. 

Obedient  Kovercame  when  call'd, — 
It  was  a  sight  to  see  ! 

Upon  her  curly  head, 
His  hand  her  father  laid, 
"  They're  j^ours,  my  child — and  need 

"  I  say, 
Yourself  attend,  and  feed  them  every 
day  !  " 

Adelaide  O'Keeffe. 


THE  OLD  AEM-CHAIB. 

I  LOVE  it — I  love  it,  and  who  shall  dare 

To  chide  me  for  loving  that  old  arm- 
chair ! 

I've  treasured  it  long  as  a  sainted 
prize — 

I've  bedewed  it  with  tears,  I've  em- 
balmed it  with  sighs  ; 

'Tis  bound  by  a  thousand  bauds  to  my 
heart. 

Not  a  tie  will  break,  not  a  link  will 
start ; 

Would  you  learn  the  spell  ? — A  mother 
sat  there. 

And  a  sacred  thing  is  that  old  arm- 
chair. 

In  childhood's  hour  I  lingered  near. 
The  hallowed  seat  with  listening  ear  ; 
And  gentle  words  that  mother  would 

give, 
To  fit  me  to  die,  and  teach  me  to  live. 
She  told  me  shame  would  never  betide 
With  truth  for  my  creed,  and  God  for 

my  Guide  ; 
She    taught   me    to    lisp    my    earliest 

prayer. 
As  I  knelt  beside  that  old  arm-chair. 


I  sat  and  watched  her  many  a  day. 
When  her  eyes  were  dim  and  her  locks 

were  grey. 
And   I   almost   worshipped   her   when 

she  smiled 
And   turned  from   her   Bible  to    bless 

her  child. 
Years  rolled  on,  but  the  last  one  sped. 
My  idol  was  shattered — my  earth-star 

fled; 
I  learnt  how  much  the  heart  can  bear. 
When  I  saw  her  die  in  that  old  arm- 
chair. 

'Tis  past !  'tis  past!  but  I  gaze  on  it  now 

AVith  quivering  breath  and  throbbing 
brow  ; 

'Twas  there  she  nursed  me — 'twas  there 
she  died. 

And  memory  flows  with  lava  tide  ! 

Say  it  is  folly,  and  deem  me  weak. 

While  the  scalding  tears  run  down  my 
cheek  ; 

But  I  love  it — I  love  it,  and  cannot 
tear 

My  soul  from  my  mother's  old  arm- 
chair. 

Eliza  Cook. 


SONO  OP  THE  EIRE. 

'Tis  a  sad  sight 

To  see  the  year  dying, 
AVlien  Autumn's  last  wind 

Sets  the  yellow  woods  sighing : 

Sighing,  0  sighing. 

When  such  a  time  cometh 

T  do  retire 
luto  an  old  room 

Beside  a  bright  fire  : 

0  pile  a  bright  fire  ! 

And  there  I  sit, 

Reading  old  things. 
Of  knights  and  ladies. 

While  tlie  wind  sings — 

(J  drearily  sings  ! 

I  never  look  out 

Xor  attend  to  the  blast ; 
For  all  to  be  seen 

Is  tlic  leaves  falling  fast ; 

Falling,  falling  | 


192 


Poems  for  Children. 


But  close  at  the  hearth. 
Like  a  cricket  sit  I 

Reading  of  summer 
And  chivalry — 
Gallant  chivalry  ! 


Then  the  clouds  part, 

Swallows  soaring  between ; 

The  spring  is  awake, 
And  the  meadows  are  green  ! 

1  jump  up  like  mad. 

Break  the  old  pipe  in  twain. 
And  away  to  the  meadows, 

The  meadows  again. 

Edward  FitzGerald. 


And  with  sprigs  of  holly  and  ivy 
We  make  the  house  look  gay, 

Just  out  of  an  old  regard  to  him, — 
For  'twas  his  ancient  way. 

We  broach  the  strong  ale  barrel, 
And  bring  out  wine  and  meat ; 

And  thus  we  have  all  things  ready. 
Our  dear  old  friend  to  greet. 

And  soon  as  the  time  wears  round, 
The  good  old  carle  we  see. 

Coming  a-near — for  a  creditor 
Less  punctual  is  than  he. 

He  comes  with  a  cordial  voice. 
That  does  one  good  to  hear ; 

He  shakes  one  heartily  by  the  hand. 
As  he  hath  done  many  a  year. 


A  CEREMONY  FOR  CANDLE- 
MAS  DAY. 

Down  with  the  rosemary  and  so 
Down  with  the   bays   and   mistletoe ; 
Down  with  the  holly,  ivy,  all 
Wherewith  ye  dressed   the  Christmas 

hall; 
That  so  the  superstitious  find 
No  one  least  branch  there  left  behind  ; 
For  look,  how  many  leaves  then  be 
Neglected  there,  maids,  trust  to  me. 
So  many  goblins  you  shall  see. 

Robert  Hcrrick, 


OLD  CHRISTMAS. 

Now,  he  who  knows  old  Cluristmas, 
He  knows  a  carle  of  worth  ; 

For  he  is  as  good  a  fellow, 
As  any  upon  the  earth. 

He  comes  warm-cloaked  and  coated, 
And  buttoned  up  to  the  chin  ; 

And  soon  as  he  comes  a-nigh  the  door, 
We  open  and  let  him  in. 

We  know  that  he  will  not  fail  us. 
So  we  sweep  the  liearth  up  clean ; 

We  set  him  the  old  armed-chair. 
And  a  cushion  whereon  to  ioau. 


And  after  the  little  children 
He  asks  in  a  cheerful  tone. 

Jack,  Kate,  and  little  Annie, — 
He  remembers  them  every  one  | 

Wliat  a  fine  old  fellow  he  is  ! 

With  his  faculties  all  as  clear. 
And  his  heart  as  warm  and  light. 

As  a  man's  in  his  fortieth  year  ! 

What  a  fine  old  fellow,  in  trotli ! 

Not  one  of  your  griping  elves. 
Who,  wdth  plenty  of  money  to  spare. 

Think  only  about  themselves. 

Not  he  !  for  he  loveth  the  children. 

And  holiday  begs  for  all ; 
And  comes  with  his  pockets  full  of  gifts, 

For  the  great  ones  and  the  small. 

With  a  present  for  every  servant, — ■ 
For  in  giving  he  doth  not  tire, — 

From  the  red-faced  jovial  butler. 
To  the  girl  by  the  kitchen  fire. 

And  he  tells  us  witty  old  stories. 
And  singeth  with  might  and  main  ; 

And  we  talk  of  the  old  man's  visit. 
Till  the  day  that  he  comes  again. 

Oh  !  he  is  a  kind  old  fellow. 
For  though  the  beef  be  dear, 

He  giveth  the  parish  pauper's, 
A  good  dinner  once  a  year. 


Home. 


193 


And  all  the  ■workhouse  children, 
He  sets  them  down  in  a  row. 

And  giveth  them  raie  plum  pudding, 
And  twopence  apiece  also  ! 

Oh,  could  you  have  seen  those  paupers. 
Have  heard  those  children  yoimg, 

You    would     wish    with     them,     that 
Cin-istmas 
Came  often  and  tarried  long  ! 

He  must  be  a  rich  old  follow, — 
Wliat  money  he  gives  away  ! 

There  is  not  a  lord  in  England 
Could  equal  him  any  day  ! 

Good  luck  nnto  old  Cliristmas, 

And  long  life,  let  us  sing, 
For  he  doth  more  good  unto  the  poor, 

Than  many  a  crowned  king  ! 

Mary  Hoivitt. 


CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  OliDEN 

TIME. 

If  EAP    on    more    wood  ! — the    wind    is 

chill  ; 
But  let  it  whistle  as  it  will, 
We'll  keep  our  Ciu-istmas  merry  still. 

Each  age  has  deem'd  the  new-born 
year 
The  fittest  time  for  festal  cheer : 
And  well  our  Christian  sires  of  old 
Loved    when  the   year   its   course   had 

roll'd.  . 
And    brought    blithe    Christmas    back 

again, 
Witli  all  his  hospitable  train. 
Domestic  and  religious  rite 
(lave  honour  to  the  hoi}'  night ; 
On    Christmas    Evo    the     bells     were 

rung  ; 
On     Christmas     Eve     the    mass     was 

sung : 
That  only  night  in  all  the  year. 
Saw  the  stoled  priest  the  chalice  rear. 
The  damsel  donn'd  her  kirtle  sheen  ; 
The  hall  was  dress'd  with  holly  gnen  ; 
Forth  to  the  wootl  did  merry-men  go. 
To  gather  in  the  mistletoe. 


Then  open'd  wide  the  Baron's  hall 
To  vassal,  tenant,  serf,  and  all  ; 
Power  laid  his  rod  of  rule  aside. 
And  Ceremony  doff'd  his  pride. 
The  heir,  with  roses  in  his  shoes, 
That     night     might     village     partner 

choose ; 
The  lord,  underogating,  share 
The  vulgar  game  of  "  post  and  pair." 
All  hail'd,  with  uncontroU'd  delight 
And  general  voice,  the  happy  night, 
That  to  the  cottage,  as  the  Crown, 
Brought  tidings  of  salvation  down. 

The  fire,  with  well-dried  logs  supplied. 
Went  roaring  up  the  chimney  wide  ; 
The  huge  hall-table's  oaken  face, 
Scrubb'd  till  it  shone,  the  day  to  grace. 
Bore  then  upon  its  massive  board 
No  mark  to  part  the  squire  and  lord. 
Then  was  brought  in  the  lusty  brawn, 
By  old   blue-coated  serving- man  ; 
Then  the  grim  boar's  head  frown'd  on 

high. 
Crested  with  bays  and  rosemary. 
Well  can  the  green-garb'd  ranger  tell. 
How,   when,   and   where,   the   monster 

fell  ; 
^^'hat  dogs  before  his  death  he  tore. 
And  all  the  baiting  of  the  boar. 
The  wassail  round,  in  good  brown  bowls, 
Garnish'd  with  ribbons,  blithely  trowls. 
There  the  huge  sirloin  reek'd  ;    hard  by 
Plum-porridge    stood,    and    Christmas 

pie  ; 
Nor  fail'd  old  Scotland  to  produce. 
At  sucli  high  tide,  her  savoury  goose. 
Then  came  the  merry  maskers  in. 
And  carols  roar'd  with  blithesome  din  ; 
If  unmelodious  was  the  song. 
It  was  a  hearty  note,  and  strong. 
Who  lists  n\ay  in  their  mumming  see 
Traces  of  ancient  mystery  ; 
White  shirts  supplied  the  masquerade, 
And  smutted  cheeks  the  visors  made  ; — 
But,  0  !  what  maskers,  richly  dight. 
Can  boast  of  bosoms  half  so  light  ! 
England  was  merry  England,  when 
Old  Christmas  brought  his  sports  again. 
'Twas  Christmas  broach'd  the  mightiest 

ale  ; 
'Twas  Christmas  told  the  merriest  tale  ; 
A  Christmas  gambol  oft  could  cheer 
The  poor  man's  heart  through  lialf  the 

year. 

Sir    Walirr  Scolt. 
13 


194 


Poems  for  Children. 


CEREMONIES    FOR    CHRIST- 

MAS. 

Come,  bring  with  a  noise. 

My  merry,  merry  boys, 
The  Christmas  log  to  the  firing. 

While  my  good  dame  she 

Bids  ye  all  be  free. 
And  drink  to  your  heart's  desiring. 

With  the  last  year's  brand, 

/iight  the  new  block,  and 
For  good  success  in  hJs  spending, 

On  your  psalteries  play 

That  sweet  luck  may 
Come  while  the  log  is  a-tendiug. 

Drink  now  the  strong  beer. 
Cut  the  white  loaf  here. 

The  while  the  meat  is  a-shredding  ; 
For  the  rare  mince-pie, 
And  the  plums  stand   !n% 

To  fill  the  paste  that's  a-kneading. 

Robert   Herrick. 


THE  DESERTED  VILLAGE. 

Sweet  Auburn  !  loveliest  village  of  the 

plain. 
Where  health  and  plenty  cheered  the 

labouring  swain  ; 
Where  smiling  spring  its  earliest  visits 

paid, 
And  parting  summer's  lingering  bloom 

delaj'ed  ; 
Dear  lovely  bowers  of  innocence  and 

ease, 
Seats  of  my  youth,  when  every  sport 

could  please  ! 
How  often  have  I  loitered  o'er  thy  green. 
Where  humble  happiness  endeared  each 

scene  ; 
How   often   have   I   paused   on   every 

charm — 
Tlie  sheltered  cot,  the  cultivated  farm. 
The  never-failing  brook,  the  busy  mill, 
The    decent    church    that    topp'd    the 

neighbouring  hill. 
The  hawthorn- bush,  with  seats  beneath 

the  shade, 
For  talking  age  and  whispering  lovers 

made  ! 
How  often  have  I  blessed  the  coning 

day. 


When  toil  remitting  lent  ita  turn  to 

play. 
And  all  the  village  train,  from  labour 

free. 
Led    up    their     sports     beneath    the 

spreading  tree  : 
While  many  a  pastime,  circled  in  the 

shade. 
The    young    contended    as    the    old 

surveyed  ; 
And  many  a  gambol  frolicked  o'er  the 

ground. 
And  sleights  of  art  and  feats  of  strength 

went  round ; 
And   still,    as   each    repeated   pleasure 

tired. 
Succeeding  sports  tlie    mirthful    band 

inspired  ; 
The  dancing  pair  that  simply  sought 

renown. 
By  holding  out  to  tire  each  other  down  ; 
The  swain,  mistrustless  of  his  smutted 

face.. 
Wliile  secret  laughter  titter'd  round  the 

place  ; 
The  bashful  virgin's  side-long  loolis  of 

love. 
The  matron's  glance  that  would  those 

looks  reprove. 
These  were  thy  charms,  sweet  village  ! 

sports  like  these. 
With  sweet  succession,  taught  e'en  toil 

to  please  ; 
These  round  ihy  bowers  their  cheerfvil 

influence  shed. 
These  ivere  thy  charms — but  all  these 

charms  are  fled. 

Oliver  Goldsmith. 


FATHER  IS  COMING. 

The  clock  is  on  the  stroke  of  si.T. 

The  father's  A\ork  is  done  ; 
Sweep  up  the  hearth,  and  mend  the  fire, 

And  put  the  kettle  on  : 
The  wild  niglit-wind  is  blowing  cold. 
'Tis  dreary  crossing  o'er  the  wold. 

He  is  crossing  o'er  the  wold  apace. 
He  is  stronger  than  the  storm  ; 

He  does  not  feel  t!ie  cold,  not  he, 
His  lioart  it  is  so  warm  ; 

For  fatlier's  heart  is  stout  and  true 

As  ever  human  bosom  knew 


I 

i 
i 


Home 


195 


He  makes  all  toil,  all  hardship  light ; 

Would  all  men  were  the  saine  ! 
80  ready  to  be  pleased,  so  kind, 

So  very  slow  to  blame  ! 
Folks  need  not  be  unkind,  austere  ; 
For  love  hath  readier  will  than  fear. 

Nay,  do  not  close  the  shutters,  cliild. 

For  far  along  the  lane 
Tiie  little  window  looks,  and  he 

Can  see  it  shining  plain  ; 
I've  heard  him  say  he  loves  to  mark 
The    cheerful    firelight,    through    the 
dark. 


Catchinga  up  of  legs  and  arms, 
Throwings  back  and  small  alarms, 
(Jlutching  fingers — straightening  jerks. 
Twining  feet,  whose  each  toe  works, 
Kickings  up  and  straining  risings. 
Mother's  ever  new  surprisings. 
Hands  all  wants,  and  looks  all  wonder 
At  all  things  the  heavens  under. 
Tiny  scorns  of  smiled  reprovings. 
That  have  more  of  love  than  loving^. 
Mischiefs  done  with  such  a  wiiuiiiig 
Archness,  that  we  prize  sucli  sinning. 

William  Cox  Lieiuiftt. 


And  we'll  do  all  that  father  likes  ; 

His  wishes  are  so  few ; 
Would   they   were  more ;    that  every 
hour 

Some  wish  of  his  I  knew  ! 
I'm  sure  it  makes  a  happy  day. 
When  I  can  pleaae  him  any  way. 

I  know  he's  coming  by  this  sign, 

Tliat  baby's  almost  wild. 
See   how   he   laughs,    and   crows,    and 
stares — 

Heaven  bless  the  merry  child  ! 
His  father's  self  in  face  and  limb. 
And  father's  heart  is  strong  in  hitn. 

Hai-k  !  hark  !  I  hear  his  footsteps  now. 
He's  through  the  garden  gate  ; 

Run.  little  Bess,  and  ope  the  door, 
And  do  not  let  him  wait. 

Shout,    baby,    shout !    and    clap    thy 
hands. 

For  father  oa  the  threshold  stands. 

Mary   Howitt. 


BABY  MARY. 

Cheeks  as  soft  as  July  peaches  ; 
Lips  wliose  dewy  scarlet  teaclies 
Poppic.-i  paleness  ;    round  large  eyes 
Ever  great  witii  new  surprise. 
Minutes  tilled  with  shadeless  gladness. 
Minutes  ju-<t  as  brimmed  with  sadness, 
Happy  smiles  and  wailing  cries. 
Crows  and  laughs  and  tearful  eyes. 
Lights  and  shadows  swifter  form 
Than  on  wind-swept  autumn  corn. 
Ever  some  new  tiny  notion. 
Making  every  limb  all  motion. 


POBESIGHT. 

OB    THE    CHARGE    OF    A    CHILD    TO    HIS 
YOUNGER  COMPANION. 

That  is  work  of  waste  and  ruin. 
Do  as  Charles  and  I  are  doing  ! 

Strawberry  blossoms,  one  and  all. 
We  must  spare  them — here  are  nia;iy  ; 

Look  at  it — the  flower  is  small. 
Small  and  low,  though  fair  as  any. 
Do  not  touch  it !    summers  two 
I  am  older,  Anne,  than  you. 

Pull  the  primrose.  Sister  Anne  ! 
Pull  as  many  as  you  can. 

Here  are  daisies,  take  your  fill, 
Pansies  and  the  cuckoo-flower  ; 

Of  the  lofty  daffodil 
Make  your  bed,  and  make  j'our  bower  ; 
Fill  your  lap,  and  fill  your  bosom, 
Only  spare  the  strawberry- blossom. 

Primroses,  the  Spring  may  love  them — 
Summer  knows  but  little  of  them  ; 

Violets,  a  barren  kind, 
Withered  on  the  ground  must  lie  ; 

Daisies  leave  no  fruit  beliind 
When  the  pretty  flow'rets  die. 
Pluck  them,  and  another  year 
As  many  will  be  blooming  here. 

God  has  given  a  kindlier  power. 
To  the  favoured  strawberry-flower. 

When  the  months  of  Spring  are  fletl 
Hither  let  us  bentl  our  walk  ; 

liUrking   berries,  ripe  and   red. 
Then  will  hang  on  every  stalk, 
ji^ach  within  its  leafy  bower  ; 
And  for  that  promise,  spare  the  flower. 

Willidm    W'nrf.iirorth. 

13* 


196 


Poems   for  Children. 


THE  BLIND    HIGHLAND   BOY. 

He  ne'er  had  seen  one  earthly  sight ; 
Tlie  sun,  the  clay  ;  the  stars,  the  night ; 
Or  tree,  or  butterfly,  or  flower, 
Or  fish  in  stream,  or  bird  in  bower, 
Or  woman,  man,  or  child. 

And  yet  he  neither  drooped  nor  pined. 
Nor  had  a  melancholy  mind  ; 
For  God  took  pity  on  the  boy. 
And  was  his  friend  ;   and  gave  him  joy 
Of  which  we  nothing  know. 

His  mother,  too,  no  doubt,  above 
Her  other  children  him  did  love  ! 
For,  was  she  here,  or  was  she  there, 
She  thought  of  him  with  constant  care, 
And  more  than  mother's  love. 

And  proud  was  she  of  heart,  when,  clad 
In  crimson  stockings,  tartan  plaid, 
And  bonnet  with  a  feather  gay. 
To  Kirk  he  on  the  Sabbath  day. 
Went  hand  in  hand  with  her. 

A  dog,  too,  had  he  ;   not  for  need, 
But  one  to  play  with  and  to  feed  ; 
Wiiich  would  have  led  him,  if  bereft 
Of  company  or  friends,  and  left 
Without  a  better  guide. 

And  then  the  bag- pi  pes  he  could  blow  ; 
And  t!ius  from  house  to  house  would  go. 
And  all  were  pleased  to  hear  and  see  ; 
For  none  made  sweeter  melody 
Than  did  the  poor  blind  boy. 

William    Wordsworth, 


THE    CHILDLESS   FATHEB. 

"  Up,  Timothy,  iip  with  your  staff  and 

away  ! 
Not  a  soul  in  the  village  this  morning 

will  stay  : 
'I'he     hare     has      just      started     from 

Hamilton's  grounds, 
And  Skiddaw  is  glad  with  the  cry  of 

the  hounds." 

Of  coats,  and  of  jackets,  grey,  scarlet, 

aud  green, 
( )a    tlie    slopes    of    the    pastiu'es    all 

colours  were  seen  ; 
With    their    comely    blue    aprons    and 

caps  white  as  snow. 
The  girls  on  the  hills  made  a  holiday 

Bhow. 


Fresh  sprigs  o*^  green  box- wood,  not  six 

months  before, 
Fill'd  the  funeral  basin  at  Timothy's 

door  ; 
A  coffin  through  Timothy's  threshold 

had  past ; 
One  Child  did  it  bear,  and  that  Child 

was  his  last. 

Now  fast  up  the  dell  came  the  noise 

and  the  fray. 
The  horse  and  the  horn,  and  the  hark  ! 

hark  !  away  ! 
Old  Timothy  took  \ip  his  staff,  and  lie 

shut. 
With  a  leisurely  motion,  the  door  of 

his  hut. 

Perhaps    to   himself   at   that   moment 

he  said  : 
**  The  key  I  must  take,  for  my  Ellen  is 

dead." 
But  of  this,  in  my  ears,  not  a  word  did 

he  speak  ; 
And  he  went  to  the  chase  with  a  tear 

on  his  cheek. 

William    Wordsworth. 


UPON  A  CHILD  THAT  DIED 

Here  she  lies,   a  pretty   bud. 
Lately  made  of  flesh  and  blooil  ; 
Who,  as  soon  fell  fast  asleep. 
As   her   little   eyes   did    peep. 
(Jive  iier  strewings,  but  not  stir 
The  eartii  that  lightly  covers  her. 

Robert  llerrick; 


WE   ABE    SEVEN. 

— A   SIMPLE   Child, 

That   lightly   draws    its    breath. 
And  feels  its  life  in  every  liiub. 
What  should  it  know  of  death  ? 

I  met  a  little  Cottage  Girl  : 

She  was  eiglit  years  old,  she  said  ; 

Her  hair  was  thick  with  many  a  turl 
That  clustered  round  her  head. 

She  had  a  rustic,  woodland  air. 

And  she  was  wildly  clad  ; 
Hvr  eyes  were  fair,  and  very  fair, 

— Her  beauty  made  me  glad. 


Home. 


197 


"  Sisters  and  brothers,  little  raaid, 

How  many  may  yon  be  ?  " 
"  How  many  ?     Seven  in  all,"  she  said, 
And  wondering  looked  at  me. 

"  And  where  are  they  ?     I  pray  you 
tell  ;  " 

She  answered,  "  Seven  are  we ; 
And  two  of  us  at  Conway  dwell, 

And  two  are  gone  to  sea. 

"  Two  of  us  in  the  churchyard  lie, 

My  sister  and  my  brother  ; 
And,  in  the  churchyard  cottage,  I 

Dwell  near  them  with  my  motlier." 

"  You  say  that  two  at  Conway  dwell, 

And  two  are  gone  to  sea  ; 
Yet  ye  are  seven  !     I  pray  you   tell. 

Sweet  maid,  how  this  may  bo  ?  " 

Then  did  the  little  maid  reply, 
"  Seven  boys  and  girls  are  we  ; 

Two  of  us  in  the  churchyard  lie. 
Beneath  the  churchyard  tree." 

"  You  run  about,  my  little  maid, 
Yom-  limbs  they  are  alive  ; 

If  two  are  in  the  churchyard  laid, 
Then  ye  are  only  five." 

"  Their  graves  are  green,  they  may  he 
seen," 
The  little  maid  replied  ; 
"  Twelve    steps    or    more    from    my 
mother's  door. 
And  they  are  aide  by  side. 

"  My  stockings  there  I  often  knit, 

Aly  kerchief  there  I  hem  ; 
And  there  upon  the  grouml  I  sit. 

And  sing  a  song  to  them. 

"  And  often  after  sunset,  sir. 

When  it  is  light  and  fair, 
I  take  my  little  porringer. 

And  eat  my  supjier  there. 

"  The  first  that  died  was  sister  Jane  ; 

In  bed  she  moaning  lay. 
Till  God  released  her  of  her  paiu, 

And  then  she  went  away. 

"  So  in  the  churchyard  she  was  laid  ; 

And,  when  the  grass  was  dry, 
Togetlier  round  her  grave  we  played, 

-My  brother  John  and  I. 


"  And    when    the   ground    was    white 
with  snow. 

And  I  could  run  and  slide  ; 
My  brother  John  was  forced  to  go. 

And  he  lies  by  her  side." 

"  How  many  are  you,  then,"  said  I, 
"  If  they  two  are  in  heaven  ?  " 

Quick  was  the  little  maid's  reply, 
"  Oh,  master  !  we  are  seven." 

*'  But  they  are  dead ;    those  two  art- 
dead  ! 

Their  spirits  are  in  heaven  !  " 
'Twas  throwing  words  away;    for  still 
The  little  maid  would  have  her  will, 

And  said,  "  Nay,  we  are  seven  !  " 

William    Wordsworth. 


THE  FIRST  GRIEF. 

"  O,  CALL  my  brother  back  to  me  ; 

I  cannot  play  alone; 
The  summer  comes  with  flowers  and 
bee — 

Where  is  my  brother  gone  ? 

"  The  butterfly  is  glancing  bright 
Across  the  sunbeam's  track  ; 

I  care  not  now  to  chase  its  Hight, 
O,  call  my  brother  back  ! 

"  The  flowers  run  wild — the  flowers  we 
sowed 

Around    our   garden-tree  ; 
Our  vine  is  drooping  with  its  load  ; 

O,  call  him  back  to  me  ! " 

"  He  would  not  hear  my  voice,  faircliild, 

He  may  not  come  to  thee  ; 
The    face    that   once   like    spriug-tinu' 
smiled 

On  earth  no  more  thou'lt  see. 

"  A  rose's  brief  bright  life  of  jo}'. 

Such  unto  him  was  given  ; 
Go — thou  must  play  alone,  my  boy — 

Thy  brother  is  in  heaven  J  " 

"  And  has  he  left  the  birds  and  flowers  ? 

And  must  I  call  in  vain  V 
And   through   the   long,    long  summer 
hours, 

Will  he  not  come  again  2 


198 


Poems  for  Children. 


"  And  bj'  the  brook,  and  in  the  glade, 
Are  all  our  wanderings  o'er  ? 

O,  wliile  my  brother  with  me  played. 
Would  I  had  loved  him  more  !  " 

Felicia  Dorothea  Hi  wans. 


THE  GEAVES  OF  A  HOUSE- 
HOLD. 

They  grew  in  beauty,  side  by  side. 
They  filled  one  home  with  glee  ; 

Their  graves  are  severed,  far  and  wide, 
]iy  mount,  and  stream,  and  sea. 

The  same  fond  mother  bent  at  night 
O'er  each  fair  sleeping  brow  ; 

She  had  each  folded  flower  in  sight — 
Where  are  those  dreamers  now  ? 

One  'midst  the  forest  of  the  W^est, 

By  a  dark  stream  is  laid — 
The  Indian  knows  his  place  of  rest 

Far  in  the  cedar  shade. 

The  sea,  the  blue  lone  sea,  hath  one — 
He  lies  where  pearls  lie  deep  ; 

He  was  the  loved  of  all,  yet  none 
O'er  his  low  bed  may  weep. 

One  sleeps   where  southern  vines   are 
dressed 

Above  the  noble  slain  ; 
He  wrapt  his  colours  round  his  breast 

On  a  blood-red  field  of  Spain. 

And  one — o'er  her  the  myrtle  showers 
Its  leaves  by  soft  winds  fanned ; 

She  faded  'midst  Italian  flowers — 
The  last  of  that  bright  band. 

And  parted  thus  they  rest,  who  played 
Beneath  the  same  green  tree  ; 

Whose  voices  mingled  as  they  prayed 
Around  one  parent  knee  ! 

They  that  with  smiles  lit  up  the  hall. 
And  cheered  with  song  the  hearth — 

Alas  !    for  love,  if  thou  wert  all, 
And  naught  beyond,  oh  Earth  ! 

Felicia  Dorothea  Hetnana. 


THE   BETTER  LAND. 

"  I    HEAR   thee    speak    of     the    better 

land  ; 
Thou    call'st    its     children     a     happy 

band  ; 
Mother  !     O    ^^here    is    that    radiant 

shore  ? 
Shall    we    not    seek    it,  and    weep    no 

n\ore  ? 
Is  it  where  tlie  flower  of    the    o.ange 

blows. 
And   the   fire-flies   dance   through   the 
mjTtle-boughs  ?  " 
"  Not  there — not  there,  my  child  !  " 

"  Is  it  where  the  feathery  palm-trees 

rise. 
And  the  date  grows  ripe  under  sunny 

skies  ? 
Or  midst  the  green  islands  of  glittering 

seas, 
W^here    fragrant    forests    perfume    the 

breeze. 
And    strange    bright    birds    on    th.eir 

starry  wings 
Bear    the    rich    hues    of    all    glorious 

thing.s  ?  " 
"  Not  there — not  there,  my  child  I  " 

"Is  it  far  away,  in  S07ne  region  o'd, 
Where    the   rivers    wander   o'er   sands 

of  gold  ?— 
W^here  the  burning  rays  of  the  ruby 

shine. 
And  the  diamond  lights  up  the  secret 

mine. 
And  the  pearl  gleams  forth  from  the 

coral  strand  ? 
Is  it  there,  sweet  mother,  that  better 

land  ? " 
"  Not  there,  not  there,  my  child  ! 

"  Eye   hath    not    seen    it,  my    gentle 

boy  ! 
Ear  hath  not  heard  its  deep  songs  of 

joy: 
Dreams  cannot  picture  a  world  so  fair ; 
Sorrow  and  death  may  not  enter  there  ; 
Time  doth  not  breatiie  on  its  fadeless 

bloom. 
For    beyond    the    clouds,    and    beyond 

the  tomb, 
— It  is  there — it  is  there,  my  child  !  " 

Felicia  Dorothea  Hej/taiis. 


Home. 


199 


THE   COtTNTRY  PARSON. 

Near   yonder   coj)sc,  wlieie   once   the 

garden  smiled. 
And  still  wiiere  many  a  garden  flower 

grows  wild  ; 
There,    where   a   few   torn   shrubs   the 

place  disclose, 
The  village  preacher's  modest  mansion 

rose. 
A  man  he  was,  to  all  the  country  dear, 
And  passing  rich  with  fort}'  pounds  a 

year, 
Remote  from  towns  he  ran  his  godly 

race, 
Nor  e'er   had  changed,  nor  wished  to 

cliange,  his  place  : 
Un]iractised   he   to   fav.n,   or  seek  for 

power 
By  doctrines  fashioned  to  the  varying 

hour ; 
Far  other  aims  his  heart  had  learnt  to 

prize, 
More  skilled  to  raise  the  wretched  than 

to  rise. 
His  house  was  known  to  all  the  vagrant 

train, 
He  cliid  their  wanderings,  but  relieved 

tlu  ir  pain  ; 
The    long-remeUiberd    beggar   was    his 

guest, 
Whose    beard    descending,  swept    his 

aged  breast ; 
The  ruined  spendthrift,  now  no  longer 

|iroud. 
Claimed    kindred    there,    and    had    his 

claims  allowed, 
The     broken     soldier,     kindly    bid    to 

stay, 
Sat  by  Ills  fire,  and  talked  the  niglit 

away ; 
I  Wept    o'er    his    wounds,    or,    talcs    of 

sorrow  done, 
[Shouldered    his    crutch,    and    showed 

how  fields  were  won. 
Pleasefl  witli  his  guests,  the  good  man 

learned  to  glow, 
And  quite  forgot  their  vices  in   their 

woe  ; 
Careless  their  merits  or  their  faults  to 

scan. 
His  pity  gave  ere  charity  began. 

Thus   to  relieve  the  wretched  was  his 

pride. 
And  e'en  his  failings  leaned  to  virtue's 

side ; 


But  in  his  duty  prompt  at  every  call, 
•He  watched  and  wept,  he  prayed  and 

felt,  for  all. 
And,  as  a  bird  each  fond  endearment 

tries. 
To  tempt  its  new-fledged  offspring  to 

the  skies  ; 
He  tried  each  art,  reproved  each  dull 

delaj'. 
Allured  to  brighter  worlds,  and  led  the 

way 

Beside  the   bed    where  parting  life  was 

laid. 
And  sorrow,  guilt,  and  pains,  by  turns 

dismayed. 
The  reverend  champion  stood.     At  his 

control, 
Despair  and  anguish  fled  the  struggling 

soul  ; 
Co7nfort    came    down    the    trembling 

wretch  to  raise, 
And  his  last  faltering  accents  whispered 

praise. 

At    church  with  meek  and  unaffected 

grace. 
His      looks     adorned     the     venerable 

place ; 
Truth    from    his    lips    prevailed    with 

double  sway. 
And  fools,  who  cauie  to  scoff,  remained 

to  praj'. 
The    service    past,    around   the   pious 

man, 
With  steady  zeal,  each    honest   rustic 

ran ; 
E'en  children  followed,  with  endearing 

wile. 
And   plucked  his  gown,   to  share  the 

good  man's  smile 
His    ready    smile    a    parent's    warmth 

expressed  ; 
Their  welfare  pleased  him,  and   their 

cares  distressed  ; 
To  them  his  heart,  his  love,  his  griefs, 

were  given. 
But  all  his  serious  thoughts  had  rest  in 

heaven  : 
As  some  tall  cliff  that  lifts   its  awful 

form. 
Swells  from  the  vale,  and  midway  leaves 

the  storm, 
Though    round    its    breast   the    rolling 

clouds  are  spread. 
Eternal  sunshine  settles  on  its  head. 

Oliver  Goldsmith. 


200 


Poems  for  Children. 


THE   VILLAGE   BLACKSMITH. 

Under  h  spreading  chestnut  tree 
The  village  smithy  stands  ; 

The  smitli,  a  mighty  man  is  lie, 
With  large  and  sinewy  hands  ; 

And  the  muscles  of  his  brawny  arms 
Are  strong  as  iron  bands. 

His  hair  is  crisp,  and  black,  and  long, 

His  face  is  like  the  tan  ; 
His  brow  is  wet  with  honest  sweat. 

He  earns  whate'er  he  can, 
And  looks  the  whole  world  in  the  face, 

For  he  owes  not  any  man. 

Week   in,   week   out,    from   morn   till 
night. 
You  can  hear  his  bellows  blow ; 
You   can   hear  him  swing   his   heavy 
sledge, 
With  measured  beat  and  slow, 
Like  a  sexton  ringing  the  village  bell. 
When  the  evening  sun  is  low. 

And  children  coming  home  from  school 

Look  in  at  the  open  door ; 
They  love  to  see  the  flaming  forge. 

And  hear  the  bellows  roar, 
And  catch  the  burning  sparks  that  lly 

Like  chaff  from  a  thicshing-lioor. 


He  goes  on  Sunday  to  the  church. 

And  sits  among  his  boys  ; 
He  hears  the  parson  pray  and  preach. 

He  hears  his  daughter's  voice 
Singing  in  the  village  choir. 

And  it  makes  his  heart  rejoice. 

It  sounds  to  him  like  her  mother's  voice, 

Singing  in  Paradise  ! 
He  needs  must  think  of  her  once  more. 

How  in  the  grave  she  lies  ; 
And  wath  his  hard,  rough  hand  he  wipes 

A  tear  out  of  Ms  eyes. 

Toiling — rej  oicing — sorrowing, 
Onward  through  life  he  goes  ; 

Each  morning  sees  some  task  begun. 
Each  evening  sees  its  close  ; 

Something  attempted,  something  done. 
Has  earned  a  night's  repose 

Tlianks,    thanks   to   thee,   my   worthy 
friend, 

For  the  lesson  thou  hast  taught ! 
Tli:is  at  the  tiaming  forge  of  life 

<  )ur  fortunes  must  be  wrought ; 
Til  us  ou  its  soundmg  anvil  shaped 

i;ach  burning  deed  and  thought  | 

iltnry  W'uds  worth  Long  fellow. 


i 


INSECTS,  BIRDS,  AND  BEASTS. 


INSECTS. 

Observe    the    insect    race,    ordained 

to  keep 
The  lazy  Sabbath  or  a  half-year's  sleep 
Entombed  beneath  the  filmy  web  they 

lie. 
And  wait  the  influence  of  a  kinder  sky. 
When  vernal  sunbeams  pierce  their  dark 

retreat. 
The  heaving  tomb  distends  with  vital 

lieat ; 
The    full-formed    brood,    impatient    of 

their  cell. 
Start  from  their  trance  and  burst  their 

silken  shell ; 
Trembhng    awhile    they    stand,     and 

scarcely  dare 
To  launch  at  once  upoji    the   untried 

air  ; 
At    length    assured,    they    catch    the 

favcviring  gale. 
And  leave  their  sordid  spoils,  and  high 

in  ether  sail. 

Lo !     the    bright    train    their   radiant 

wings  unfold, 
With  silver  fringed  and  freckled  o'er 

with  gold. 
On  the  gay  bosom  of  some  fragrant 

flower 
Tiiey,  idly  fluttering,  live  their  little 

hour  ; 
Their  life  all  pleasure,  and  their  task 

all  play. 
All  spring  their  age,  and  sunshine  all 

their  day. 

What  atom  forms  of  insect  life  appear  ! 
And   who   can  follow  Nature's  pencil 

here  ? 
Their   wings   ^ith   azure,   green,    and 

purple   glossed. 
Studded    with    coloured     eyes,    with 

gems   embossed, 


Inlaid   with   pearl,   and   marked   with 

various  stains 
Of  lively  crimson  through  their  dusky 

veins. 
Some  shoot  hke  Uving  stars  athwart 

the  night 
And  scatter  from  their  wings  a  vivid 

light. 
To    guide    the    Indian    to    his    tawny 

loves. 
As   through   the   wood   with   cautious 

steps  he  moves. 

See   the   proud    giant    of    the    beetle 

race  ; 
What  shining  arms  his  polished  limbs 

enchase ! 
Like   some   stern   warrior,    formidably 

bright. 
His    steely    sides    reflect    a   gleaming 

hght ; 
On  his  large  forehead  spreading  horns 

he  wears ; 
And  high  in  air  the  branching  antlers 

bears  ; 
O'er  many  an  inch  extends  his  wide 

domain. 
And    his    rich    treasury    swells    with 

hoarded  grain. 

Anna  Letitia  Barbauld. 


THE  TOAD'S  JOURNAL.* 

In    a    land     for     antiquities     greatly 

renowned, 
A   traveller  had   dug   wide   and   deep 

under  groimd 

*  It  is  rel:iteil  by  the  tniTeller  Belzoni,  in  the 
iii.n-utivc  of  liis  discoveries  in  1-gMit,  that  hav- 
iiiL'  succeeded  in  clenrins  a  p:.ss  go  to  the 
enti;  lue  of  an  ancient  Temple  whicli  had  for 
i  ges  I  een  buried  in  the  8;md,  the  firet  object 
that  presented  itself  upon  entering  was  a  living 
toad  of  enormous  size.  The  first  twelve  linea 
of  the  poem  are  by  some  unknown  hand. 


202 


Poems  for  Children. 


A     temple    for     ages     entombed      to 

disclose — 
When  lo  !    he  disturbed  in  its  secret 

repose 
A  toad,  from  whose  journal  it  plainly 

appears 
It  had  lodged  in   that  mansion  some 

thousands  of  years. 
The    roll,    which    this    reptile's    long 

historj'^   records, 
A     treat     to     the     sage      antiquarian 

affords  : 
The     sense     by   obscure    hieroglyphics 

concealed. 
Deep    learning,    at   length,    with    long 

labour  revealed. 
The  first  thousand  years  as  a  specimen 

take  ; — 
The   dates   are   omitted   for   brevity's 

sake. 
"  Crawled  forth  from  some  rubbish, 

and  winked  with  one  eye  ; 
Half  opened  the  other,  but  could  not 

tell   why  ; 
Stretched  out  my   left   leg,  as   it  felt 

rather  queer. 
Then    drew  all  together  and  slept  for 

a  year. 
Awakened,   felt  chilly — crept  under  a 

stone  ; 
Was    vastly    contented     with     living 

alone. 
One  toe  became  wedged  in  the  stone 

Uke  a  peg. 
Could  not  get  it  away — had  the  cramp 

in  my  leg  ; 
Began   half  to   wish   for   a  neighbour 

at  hand 
To  loosen  the  stone,   which  was  fast 

in  the  sand  ; 
Pulled  harder — then  dozed,  as  I  found 

'twas  no  use  ; — 
Awoke    the    next    summer,    and    lo  ! 

it  was  loose. 
Crawled    forth    from    the    stone    when 

completely  awake  ; 
Crept  into  a  corner  and  grinned  at  a 

snake. 
Retreated,   and   found   that  I  needed 

repose  ; 
Curled  up  my  damp  limbs  and  prepared 

for  a  doze  : 
Fell  sounder  to  sleep  than  was  usual 

before. 
And   did   not  wake   for   a   century   or 

more  ; 
But  had  a  sweet  dream,  as  I  rather 

believe : — 


Methought    it  was   light,   and   a    fine 

summer's  eve  ; 
And    I    in    some    garden    deliciously 

fed 
In    the  pleasant    moist  shade     of   a 

strawberry   bed. 
There  fine  speckled  creatures  claimed 

kindred  with  me. 
And    others    that    hopped,    most    en- 
chanting to  see. 
Here    long    I    regaled    with    emotion 

extreme  ; — 
Awoke — disconcerted     to     find     it     a 

dream  ; 
Grew   pensive — discovered  that  life  is 

a  load  ; 
Began  to  get  weary  of  being  a  toad  ; 
Was  fretful  at  first,  and  then  shed  a 

few  tears." — 
Here    ends    the    account    of    the    first 

thousand  years. 


It  seems  that  life  is  all  a  void. 
On  selfish  thought  alone  employed  : 
That  length  of  days  is  not  a  good, 
Unless  their  use  be  understood  ; 
While  if  good  deeds  one  year  engage. 
That  may  be  longer  than  an  age  : 
But  if  a  year  in  trifles  go. 
Perhaps  you'd  spend  a  thousand  so. 
Time  cannot  stay  to  make  us  wise — 
We  must  improve  it  as  it  flies. 


Ja7ie  Taylor. 


THE  GLOW-WORM.* 

Beneath  the  hedge,  or  near  the  stream, 

A  worm  is  known  to  stray. 
That  shows  by  night  a  lucid  beam. 

Which  disappears  by  day. 

Disputes  have  been,  and  still  prevail. 
From  whence  its  rays  proceed  ; 

Some  give  that  honour  to  his  tail, 
And  others  to  his  head. 

But  this  is  sure — the  hand  of  Night, 

That  kinilles  up  the  skies. 
Gives  him  a  modicum  of  light. 

Proportioned  to  his  size. 

«  I'roin  the  Lutiu  ot  Vincent  Bourne. 


Insects,   Birds,   and   Beasts. 


203 


Perhaps  indulgent  nature  meant, 

Jiy  such  a  lamp  bestowed, 
To  hid  the  traveller,  as  he  went, 

J5e  careful  where  he  trod  ; 

Nor  crush  a  worm  whose  useful  light 
Might  serve,  however  small. 

To  show  a  stumhling-stone  by  night. 
And  save  liim  from  a  fall. 

\\'liate"er  she  meant,  this  truth  divine 

Is  legible  anil  plain, 
'Tis  power  Almighty  bids  him  shine, 

Nor  bids  him  shine  in  vain. 

William  Cowper. 


THE   LADY-BIRD   IN  THE 
HOUSE. 

Oh  !    lady-bird,  lady-bird,  why  do  you 

roam 
So  far  from  your  children,  so  far  from 

your  home  ? 
Why  do  you,   who  can  revel  all  day 

in  the  air. 
And  the  sweets  of  the  grove  and  the 

gartlen  can  share. 
In  the  fold  of  a  leaf  who  can  find  a 

green  bower. 
And  a  palace  enjoy  in  the  tube  of  a 

flower — 
Ah  !     why,  simple  lady-bird,    why  do 

you    venture 
The   dwellings  of  men  so   familiar  to 

enter  ? 
Too  soon  you  may  find  that  your  trust 

is  misplaced, 
When    by    some    cruel    child    you    are 

wantonly    chased  ; 
And   your  bright   scarlet  coat,  so   be- 

spotted  with   black, 
Is  torn   by  his  barbarous  hands  from 

your    back  : 
Ah  !     then     you'll     regret    you     were 

tempted   to  rove 
From    the    tall    climbing   hop,    or    the 

hazel's   thick  grove. 
And  will  fondly  remember  each  arbour 

and    tree, 
W  lure  lately  you  wanderetl  contented 

and  free  : — 
Then  Hy,  simple  lady -bird  ! — fly  away 

home. 
No    more    from    your    nest    and    your 
children  to  roam. 

Charlotte  Smith. 


THE   SNAIL. » 

To  grass  or  leaf,  or  fruit  or  wall. 
The  snail  sticks  close,  nor  fears  to  fall. 
As  if  he  grew  there,  house  and  all 
Together. 

Within  that  house  secure  he  hides. 
When  danger  imminent   betides. 
Of  storm,  or  otlier  harm  besides 
Of  weather. 

Give  but  his  horns  the  slightest  touch. 
His  self-collecting   power   is  such, 
He  shrinks  into  his  house  with  much 
Displeasure. 

Where'er  he  dwells,  he  dwells  alone, 
Except  himself,  has  chattels  none. 
Well  satisfied  to  be  his  own 

Whole    treasure. 

Thus,  hermit-like,  his  life  he  leads, 
Nor  partner  of  his  banquet  needs. 
And  if  he  meets  one,  only  feeds 
The   faster. 

Who  seeks  him  must  be  worse  than 

blind 
(He  and  his  house  are  so  combined). 
If,  finding  it,  he  fails  to  find 
Its   master. 

Willinm  Cowper. 


THE   WORM. 

TuRX,  turn  thy  hast}'  foot  aside, 
\or  crush   that   helpless   worm  ! 

The  frame  thy  wayward  looks  deride 
Required  a  (Jod  to  form. 

The  common  lord  of  all  that  move. 
From   whom  thy  being  flow'd, 

A  portion  of  His  boundless  love 
On    that   poor    worm    bestow'd. 

The  son,  the  moon,  the  stars,  He  made 

For  all  His  creatures  free  ; 
And  spread  o'er  earth  the  grassy  blade, 

For  worms  as  well  as  thee. 

Let  them  enjoy  their  little  day. 
Their  humble  bliss  receive  ; 

O  !    do  not  lightly  t.'ke  away 
The  life  thou  canst  not  give  ! 

Thomas  Gishorne. 

•  From  the  Latiu  of  Vincent  Bourne. 


204 


Poems  for  Children. 


THE  GRASSHOPPEB. 

Happy  insect !   what  can  be 

In  happiness  compared  to  thee  ? 

Fed  with  noui'ishment  divine, 

The  dewy  morning's  gentle  wine  ! 

Nature  waits  upon  thee  still, 

And  thy  verdant  cup  does  fill ; 

'Tis  fill'd  wherever  thou  dost  tread. 

Nature's  self's  thy  Ganymede. 

Thou  dost  drink,  and  dance,  and  sing. 

Happier  than  the  happiest  king  ! 

All  the  fields  which  thou  dost  see. 

All  the  plants  belong  to  thee. 

All  that  summer  hours  produce, 

Fertile  made  with  early  juice  : 

Man  for  thee  does  sow  and  plough ; 

Farmer  he  and  landlord  thou  ! 

Thou  dost  innocently  joy. 

Nor  does  thy  luxury  destroy. 

The  shepherd  gladly  heareth  thee, 

More  harmonious  than  he. 

Thee,  coimtry  hinds  with  gladness  hear, 

Prophet  of  the  ripened  year  : 

Thee  Phoebus  loves  and  does  inspire  ; 

Phoebus  is  himself  thy  sire. 

To  thee  of  all  things  upon  earth. 

Life  is  no  longer  than  thy  mirth. 

Happy  insect !    happy  thou. 

Dost  neither  age  nor  winter  know  ; 

But  when  thou'st  drunk,  and  danced, 

and  svmg 
Thy  fill,  the  flowery  leaves  among 
(Voluptuous  and  wise  withal, 
Epicmrean  animal) 
Sated  with  the  summer  feast 
Thou  retir'st  to  endless  rest. 

Ahralmm  Cowley. 


TO    THE    GRASSHOPPEB   AND 
THE    CRICKET. 

Green  little  vaulter  in  the  sunny  grass, 

Catching  your  heart  up  at  the  feel 
of  June : 

Sole  voice  that's  heard  amidst  the 
lazy  noon. 

When  even  the  bees  lag  at  the  sum- 
moning  brass  ; 

And  you,  warm  Uttle  housekeeper, 
who  class 

With  those  who  think  the  candle's 
come  too  soon, 

Loving  the  fire,  and  with  your  trick- 
some  tune 


Nick  the  glad  silent  moments  as  they 

pass ! 
O     sweet     and    tiny     cousins,     that 

belong 
One   to   the   fields,   the  other   to   the 

hearth. 
Both     have     your     sunsliine ;      both, 

though  small,  are  strong 
At  your  clear  hearts  ;    and  both  seem 

given  to  earth 
To    sing    in    thoughtful    ears     their 

natural  song — 
In   doors     and     out,     summer      and 

winter.   Mirth. 

Leigh  Hunt. 


THE  GRASSHOPPEB  AND 
THE  CRICKET. 

The  poetry  of  earth  is  never  dead  : 

When    all    the    birds    are    faint  A^'ith 
the  hot  sun. 

And    hide   in    cooling   trees,  a    voice 
will  run 

From  hedge  to  hedge  about  the  new- 
mown  mead : 

That   is    the   grasshopper's — he   takes 
the  lead 

In  summer  luxury — he  has  never  done 

With    his    dehghts,    for    when    tired 
out  with  fun. 

He  rests  at  ease  beneath  some  pleasant 
weed. 

The  poetry  of  earth  is  ceasing  never : 

On   a  lone    winter  evening,  when  the 
frost 

Has  wrought  a  silence,  from  the  stove 
there  shrills 

The    Cricket's    song,    in    warmth    in- 
creasing ever. 

And  seems  to  one  in   drowsiness   half 
lost. 

The   grasshopper's   among   the  grassy 
hills. 

John  Keals. 


THE   CRICKET.* 
Little  inmate,  full  of  mirth, 
Chirpijig  on  my  kitchen  hearth, 
Wheresoe're  be  thy  abode 
Always  harbinger  of  good  : 
Pay  we  for  thj^  warm  retreat 
With  a  song  more  soft  and  sweet ; 
In  return  thou  shalt  receive 
Such  a  strain  as  I  can  give. 

*  irom  tUe  latia  of  Vinceat  Bourne. 


I 


Insects,  Birds,  and  Beasts. 


205 


I 


Thus  thy  praise  shall  be  expressed. 
Inoffensive,  welcome  guest ! 
While  the  rat  is  on  the  scout 
And  the  mouse  with  curious  snout. 
With  -what  vermin  else  infest 
Every  dish  and  spoil  the  best; 
Frisking  thus  before  the  fire 
Thou  hast  all  thy  heart's  desire. 

Though  in  voice  and  shape  they  be 
Formed  as  if  akin  to  thee, 
Thou  surpassest,  happier  far, 
Happiest  grasshoppers  that  are  ; 
Theirs  is  but  a  summer  song. 
Thine  endures  the  winter  long. 
Unimpaired,  and  shrill,  and  clear, 
Melody  throughout  the  year. 

Neither  night  nor  da-mi  of  day 
Puts  a  period  to  thy  play  : 
Sing,  then — and  extend  thy  span 
Far  beyond  the  date  of  man. 
Wretched  man,  whose  years  are  spent 
In  repining  discontent. 
Lives  not,  aged  though  he  be. 
Half  a  span,  compared  with  thee. 

William  Cowper, 


TO  A   CRICKET. 

Voice  of  summer,  keen  and  shrill. 
Chirping  round  ray  winter  fire. 
Of  thy  song  I  never  tire, 

Weary  others  as  they  will. 

For  thy  song  with  summer's  filled — 
Filled  with  sunshine,  filled  with  June  ; 
Firelight  echo  of  that  noon 

Heard  in  fields  when  all  is  stilled 
In  the  golden  light  of  May, 
Bringing  scents  of  new-mown  hay, 
Hees,  and  birds,  and  flowers  away, 

Piitiiee,  hannt  my  fireside  still, 

\'oice  of  summer,  keen  and  slirill, 

William  Cox  Bennett. 


THE    BTTTTBRFLY'S    FIRST 
FLIGHT. 

Thott  has  burst  from  thy  prison, 

Bright  child  of  the  air. 
Like  a  spirit  just  risen 

From  its  mansion  of  care. 


Thou  art  joyously  winging 

Thy  first  ardent  flight. 
Where  the  gay  lark  is  singing 

Her  notes  of  delight : 

Where  the  simbeams  are  throwing 

Their  glories  on  thine, 
Till  thy  colours  are  glowing 

With  tints  more  divine. 

Then  tasting  new  pleasure 
In  summer's  green  bowers. 

Reposing  at  leisure 
On  fresh-open'd  flowera. 

Or  delighted  to  hover 

Around  them,  to  see 
Whose  charms,  airy  rover. 

Bloom  sweetest  for  thee ; 

And  fondly  inhaling 

Their  fragrance,   till  day 

From  thy  bright  eye  is  failing 
And  fading  away. 

Then  seeking  some  blossom 

Which  looks  to  the  west. 
Thou  dost  find  in  its  bosom 

Sweet  shelter  and  rest. 

And  there  dost  betake  thee 

Till  darkness  is  o'er, 
And  the  sunbeams  awake  thee 

To  pleasure  once  more. 


TO  A  BUTTERFLY. 

I've  watched  you  now  a  full  half-hour, 
Self-poised  upon  that  yellow  flower  ; 
And,  Uttle  butterfly,  indeed, 
I  know  not  if  you  sleep  or  feed. 

How   motionless  ! — ^not   frozen    seas 

More  motionless ;    and  then. 
What  joy  awaits  you  when  the  breeze 
Hath  found  you  out  among  the  trees. 
And  calls  you  forth  again  ! 

This  plot  of  orchard  ground  is  ours. 
My  trees  they  are,  my  sister's  flowera  ; 
Here  rest  your  wings  when  they  are 

weary. 
Here  lodge  as  in  a  sanctuary  I 


206 


Poems   for  Children. 


Come  to  us  often,  fear  no  wrong, 
Sit  near  ua  on  the  bough  ! 

We'll  talk  of  sunshine  and  of  song. 

And  summer  tlays  when  we  were  young  ; 

Sweet  childish  days  that  were  as  long 
As  twenty  days  are  now. 

William    Wordsworth. 


TO  A  BUTTERFLY. 

Stay  near  me — do  not  take  thy  flight ! 
A  little  longer  stay  in  sight  ! 
Much  converse  do  I  find  in  thee. 
Historian  of  my  infancy  ! 
Float  near  me  ;   do  not  yet  depart ! 

Dead  times  revive  in  thee  : 
Thou  bring'st,  gay  creature  as  thou  art, 
A  solemn  image  to  my  heart. 

My  father's  family  ! 

Oh  !    pleasant,  pleasant  were  the  days. 
The  time  when,  in  our  childish  plays. 
My  sister  Emmeline  and  I 
Together  chased  the  butterfly  ! 
A  very  hunter  did  I  rush 

Upon    the     prey — with    leaps     and 
springs 
I  followed  on  from  brake  to  bush. 
But  she,  God  love  her,  feared  to  brush 

The  dust  from  off  its  wings. 

William  Wordsworth. 


THE    BUTTERFLY  AND   THE 
BEE. 

Methought  I  heard  a  butterfly 

Say  to  a  labouring  bee  ; 
"  Thou    hast  no  colours  of  the  sky 

On  painted  wings  hke  me." 

"  Poor  child  of  vanity  !    those  dyes, 
And  colours  bright  and  rare," 

With  mild  I'eproof,  the  bee  replies 
"Are  all  beneath  my  care. 

"Content  I  toil  from  morn  to   eve, 

And  scorning  idleness, 
To  tribes  of  gaudy  sloth  I  leave 

The  vanity  of  dress." 

William  Lisle  Bowles. 


"WHERE    THE   BEE    SUCKS." 

Where  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I ; 
In  a  cowsUp's  bell  I  lie  : 
There  I  couch,  when  owls  do  cry. 
(Jn  the  bat's  back  I  do  fly. 
After  summer,  merrily  : 
Merrily,  merrily,  shall  I  live  now 
Under  the  blossom    that  hangs  on  the 
Ijough. 

William  Shakespeare. 


THE   INNOCENT   THIEF.* 

Not  a  flower  can  be  found  in  the  fields, 
Or    the   spot   that    we    till    for    our 
pleasure. 
From    the    largest    to    least,    but    it 
yields 
The  bee,  never  wearied,  a  treasure. 

Scarce  any  she  quits  unexplored, 
With  a  dihgence  truly  exact ; 

Yet  steal  what  she  may  for  her  hoard, 
Leaves  evidence  none  of  the  fact. 

Her  lucrative  task  she  pursues. 

And  pilfers  with  so  much  atldress, 
That  none  of  their  odour  they  lose. 

Nor  charm  by  their  beauty  the  less. 

Nor  thus  inoffensively  preys 

The  canker-worm,  indwelling  foe  ! 

His  voracity  not  thus  allays 

The  sparrow,  the  finch,  or  the  crow. 

The  worm  more  expensively  fed. 
The  pride  of  the  garden  devours  ; 

And  birds  peck  the  seeds  from  the  bed. 
Still  less  to  be  spared  than  the  flowers. 

But  she  with  much  delicate  skill. 
Her  pillage  so  fits  for  her  use. 

That  the  chemist  in  vain  with  his  still, 
Would  labour  the  like  to  produce. 

Then  grudge  not  her  temperate  meals. 

Nor  a  benefit  blame  as  a  theft. 
Since,  stole  she  not  all  that  she  steals. 
Neither   honey    nor  wax   would   be 
left. 

William  Cow  per. 

i'rom  tlie  Liitiu  of  Vincent  Bourne. 


Insects,  Birds,   and   Beasts. 


207 


SONG  OF  THE  BEES. 

We  watch  for  tlie  light  of  the  morn  to 
break. 
And  colour  the  eastern  sky 
W  itli   its  blended   hues  of  saffron  and 

lake  ; 
Then    say    to    each    other,    "  Awake ! 

awake  ! 
For  our  winter's  honey  is  all  to  make. 
And  our  bread  for  a  long  supply." 

And  off  we  hie  to  the  hill  and  dell, 
To   the   field,    to    the    meadow    and 

bower  ; 
We   love   in   the  columbine's   horn   to 

dwell. 
To   dip   in   the   hly   with    snow-white 

bell. 
To  search  for  the  balm  in  its  fragrant 

cell, 
The  mint  and  the  rosemary  flower. 

Wc  seek  the  bloom  of  the  eglantine. 
Of  the  painted  thistle  and  brier  ; 

And  follow  the  steps  of  the  wandering 
vine, 

Whether  it  trail  on  the  earth  supine. 

Or  round  the  aspiring  tree- top  twine. 
And  aim  at  a  state  still  higher. 

While  each,  on  the  good  of  her  sister 
bent, 
Is  busy,  and  cares  for  all, 
Wc    hope    for    an    evening  of    heart's 

content 
In  the  winter  of  life,  without  lament 
That    summer    is    gone,    or    its    hours 
misspent. 
And  the  harvest  is  past  recall. 

Hannah  Flagg  Gould. 


Thou   wert  working  late,   thou   busy, 
busy  bee ! 

After  the  fall  of  the  cistus  flower. 
When    tlie    primrose  of    evening    was 

ready  to  burst, 
I  heard  thee  last,  as  I  saw  thee  first ; 

In  the  silence  of  t!ie  evening  hour. 
Heard  I  thee,  thou  busy,  busy  bee ! 

Thou  art  a  miser,  thou  busy,  busy  bee! 

Late  and  early  at  employ  ; 
Still  on  thy  golden  stores  intent. 
Thy  summers  in  keeping  and  hoarding 
is  spent, 
Wliat  thy  winter  will  never  enjoy. 
Wise   lesson   this   for  me,  thou    busy, 
busy  bee  ! 

Little    dost    thou    think,    tliou    busy, 
busy    bee  ! 
What  is  the  end  of  thy  toil, 
When    the    latest   flowers    of    the   ivy 

are  gone. 
And  all  thy  work  for  the  year  is  done. 

Thy  master  comes  for  the  spoil  ; 
Woe   then  for  thee,   thou   busy,    busy 
bee  } 

Robert  Soulhey. 


TO  A   FL.Y. 

Bdsy,  curious,  thirsty  Fly, 
Drink  with  me,  and  drink  as  I ; 
Freely  welcome  to  my  cup, 
(Jould'st  thou  sip,  and  sip  it  up. 
Make  the  most  of  life  you  may  ; 
Life  is  short,  and  wears  away. 

Both  alike  are  mine  and  thine, 
Hast'ning  quick  to  their  decline  : — 
Thine's    a  summer:    mine's    no    more. 
Though  repeated  to  three-score  :— 
Three-score  summers,  when  they're  gone 
Will  api^ear  as  short  as  one. 


William  Oldya. 


TO   A  BEE. 

Thou   wert   out   betimes,    thou   busy, 
busy  bee  ! 

As  abroad  I  took  my  early  way. 
Before  the  cow  from  her  resting-place 
Had  risen  up,  antl  left  her  trace 

On  the  meadow,  with  dew  so  gay. 
Saw  I  thee,  thou,  busy,  busy  bee ! 


MISTER   FLY. 

What  a  sliarp  little  fellow  is  Mister  Fly, 
He  goes  wiien  he  pleases,  low  or  high, 
And   can    walk  just  as   well    with   his 
feet  to  the  sky 
As  I  can  on  the  floor ; 


208 


Poems  for  Children. 


At  the  window  he  comes 
With  a  buzz  and  a  roar, 
And  o'er  the  smooth  glass 
Can  easily  pass 

Or  through  the  keyhole  of  the  door. 
He  eats  the  sugar,  and  goes  away. 
Nor  ever  once  aaks  what  there  is  to 

pay ; 
And    sometimes   he    crosses    the    tea- 
pot's steam, 
And  comes  and   plunges  his  head  in 

the   cream  ; 
Then  on  the  edge  of  the  jug  he  stands, 
.Ind   cleans   his    wings    with   his   feet 

and  hands. 
This    done,    through    the    window    he 

hurries   away. 
And  gives  a  buzz,  as  if  to  saj% 
"  At   present   I   have'nt  a  minute   to 

stay. 
But  I'll  peep  in  again  in  the  course 
of  the  day." 
Then  again  he'll  fly 
Where  the  sunbeams  lie. 
And  neither  stop  to  shake  hands 
Nor  bid  good-bye : 
Such  a  strange  little  fellow  is  Master 

Fly. 

Who  goes  where  he  pleases,   low  or 
high, 

And  can  walk  on  the  ceiling 

Without  ever  feeling 
A  fear  of  tumbling  down  "  sky-high." 

Thovms  Miller. 


THE    PLY. 

Little  fly. 
Thy  summer's  play, 
My  thoughtless  hand 
Has  brush'd  away. 

Am  not  I 
A  fly  like  thee  T 
Or  art  not  thou 
A  man  like  me  T 

For  I  dance, 
And  drink  and  sing, 
Till  some  blind  hand 
Shall  brush  my  wing. 

If  thought  is  life 

And  strength  and  breath. 

And  the  want 

Of  thought  is  death ; 


Then  am  I 
A  happy  fly 
If  I  live 
Or  if  I  die. 


William  Blake. 


THE  TRUE  STOBY  OF  WEB- 
SPINNER. 

Web-spixner  was  a  miser  old. 

Who  came  of  low  degree  ; 
His  body  was  large,  his  legs  were  thin. 

And  he  kept  bad  company  ; 
And  his  visage  had  the  evil  look 

Of  a  black  felon  grim  ; 
To  all  the  country  he  was  known. 

But  none  spoke  well  of  him. 
His  house  was  seven  stories  high. 

In  a  corner  of  the  street. 
And  it  always  had  a  dirty  look. 

When  other  homes  were  neat ; 
Up  in  his  garret  dark  he  lived. 

And  from  the  windows  high. 
Looked  out  in  the  dusky  evenmg 

Upon  the  passers  by. 
Most  people  tliought  he  lived  alone. 

Yet  many  have  averred 
That  dismal  cries  from  out  his  house 

Were  often  loudly  heard  ; 
And  that  none  living  left  his  gate. 

Although  a  few  went  in  ; 
For  he  seized  the  very  beggar  old. 

And  stripped  him  to  the  skin. 
And  though  he  prayed  for  mercy, 

Yet  mercy  ne'er  was  shown — 
The  miser  cut  his  body  up. 

And  picked  him  bone  from  bone. 
Thus  people  said,  and  all  believed 

The  dismal  story  true ; 
As  it  was  told  to  me,  in  truth, 

I  tell  it  so  to  you. 

There  was  an  ancient  widow — 

One  Madgy  de  la  Moth, 
A  stranger  to  the  man,  or  she 

Had  ne'er  gone  there  in  troth  : 
But  she  was  poor  and  wandered  out. 

At  night-fall  in  the  street. 
To  beg  from  rich  men's  tables 

Dry  scraps  of  broken  meat. 
So  she  knocked  at  old  Web-Spinner's 
door 

With  a  modest  tap,  and  low. 
And  down  stairs  came  he  speedily 

Like  an  arrow  from  a  bow. 


I 

f  "  Walk  in,  walk  in,  mother,"  said  he, 
,       And  shut  the  door  behind — 
»•  She  thought,  for  such  a  gentleman, 
I       That  he  was  wondrous  kind. 
I   But  ere  the  midnight  clock  had  tolled, 
I       Like  a  tiger  of  the  wood, 
'   He  had  eaten  the  flesh  from  off  her 
hones. 
And  drunk  of  her  heart's  blood  ! 

\nw  after  this  foul  deed  was  done, 

A  little  season's  space, 
I   The  Burly  Baron  of  Bluebottle 

Was  riding  from  the  chase. 
The  sport  was  dull,  the  day  was  hot, 
t        The  sun  was  sinking  down, 
Wiien  wearily  the  Baron  rode 

Into  the  dusty  town. 
Says  he,  "  I'll  ask  a  lodging. 

At  the  first  house  1  come  to ;  " 
With  that,   the  gate  of   Wcb-Spinner 

Came  suddenly  in  view  : 
Loud  was  the  knock  the  Baron  gave : 

Down  came  the  churl  with  glee  ; 
Saj's  Bluebottle,   "  Good  Sir,  to-night 

I  ask  your  courtesy  ; 
I  am  wearied  by  a  long  day's  chase — 

iSIy  friends  are  far  behind." 
"  You  may  need  them  all,"  said  Web- 
Spinner, 

"  It  runneth  in  my  mind." 
"  A  Baron  am  I,"  said  Bluebottle ; 

"  From  a  foreign  land  I  come ;  " 
"  I    thought    as    much,"    said    Web- 
vSpinner, 

"  Fools  never  stay  at  home  !  " 
Says  the  Baron,  "  Churl,  what  meaneth 
this  ? 

I  defy  you,  villain  base  !  " 
And  he  wished  the  while,  in  his  in- 
most heart. 

He  was  safely  from  the  place. 
Web- Spinner  ran  and  locked  the  door. 

And  a  loud  laugh  laughed  he. 
With    that,    each   one    on    the    other 
sprang. 

And  they  wrestled  furiously. 
The  Baron  was  a  man  of  might, 

A  swordsman  of  renown  ; 
But  the  Miser  had  the  stronger  arm, 

And  kept  the  Baron  down. 
Then  out  he  took  a  little  cord. 

From  a  pocket  at  his  side. 
And  with  many  a  crafty,  cruel  knot. 

His  hands  and  feet  he  tied  ; 
And  bound  liim  down  unto  the  floor. 

And  said  in  savage  jest, 


Insects,   Birds,   and   Beasts. 


209 


"  Tiiere    is    heavy    work    for    you    in 
store  ; 

So,  Baron,  take  your  rest !  " 
Then  up  and  down  his  house  he  went. 

Arranging  dish  and  platter. 
With  a  dull  and  heavy  countenance. 

As  if  nothing  were  the  matter. 
At  length  he  seized  on  Bluebottle, 

That  strong  and  burly  man. 
And,  with  many  and  many  a  desperate 
tug. 

To  hoist  him  up  began  : 
And  step  by  step,  and  step  by  step. 

He  went  with  heavy  tread  ; 
But  ere  he  reached  the  garret  door. 

Poor  Bluebottle  was  dead 

Now  all  this  while,  a  magistrate, 

Wlio  lived  in  a  house  hard  by. 
Had  watched  Web-Spinner's  cruelty 

Through    a    window    privily : 
So  in  he  burst,  tlirough  bolts  and  bars. 

With  a  loud  and  thundering  sound. 
And  vowed  to  burn  the  house  with  fire, 

.And  level  it  with  the  ground  ; 
But  the  wicked  churl,  who  all  his  life 

Had  looked  for  such  a  day. 
Passed  through  a  trap-door  in  the  wall, 

And  took  himself  away. 
But  where  he  went,  no  man  could  tell : 

'Twas  said  that  under  ground 
He  died  a  miserable  death — 

But  his  body  ne'er  was  found. 
They    pulled    his    house    down,    stick 
and  stone, 

"  For  a  caitiff  vile  as  he," 
Said  they,  "  within  our  quiet  town 

Shall  not  a  dweller  be  !  " 

Mary  HowiU. 


THE  LOCUST. 

The  locust  is  fierce,  and  strong,  and 

grim, 
.\nd  a  mailed  man  is  afraid  of  him  : 
He    comes    like    a    winged    shape    of 

dread. 
With  his  shielded  back  and  his  armed 

head, 
And  his  double  wings  for  hasty  flight, 
And  a  keen,  unwearying  appetite. 

He  comes  with  famine  and  fear  along. 
An  army  a  million  million  strong ; 

14 


210 


Poems  for  Children. 


The  Goth  anrl  the  Vandal,  and  dwarfish 

Hun, 
With     their     swarming     jjeople,     wikl 

and  dun. 
Brought  not  the  dread  that  the  locust 

brings. 
When  is  heard  the  rush  of  their  myriad 

wings. 

From    the    deserts    of    burning    sand 

they  speed, 
Where  the  Lions  roani  and  the  Serpents 

breed, 
Far  over  the  sea,  away,  away  ! 
And  they  darken  the  sun  at  noon  of 

day. 
Like  Eden  the   land  before  them  they 

find, 
But    they    leave    it   a    desolate    waste 

behind. 

The  peasant  grows  ]iale  when  he   sees 

them   come. 
And  standeth   before  them   weak  and 

dumb  ; 
For   tliey   come   like   a  raging    fire   in 

power, 
Antl  eat  up  a  havest  in  half  an  hour  ; 
And  the  trees  are  bare,  and  the  land 

is   brown. 
As  if  trampled  and  trod  by  an  army 

down. 

There    is    terror    in    every    monarch's 

eye, 
When   he  hears   that  this  terrible  foe 

is  nigh  ; 
For  he   knows   that  the   might  of  an 

armed  host 
Cannot    drive    the    spoilers    from    out 

his    coast. 
That     terror     and     famine     his     land 

await. 
And    from    north    to    south    'twill    be 

desolate. 

Tluis,    the    ravening    locust   is    strong 

and  grim  ; 
And    what    were    an    armed    man    to 

him  ? 
Fire  turneth  him  not,  nor  sea  prevents. 
He  is  stronger  by  far  than  the  elements  ! 
The  broad  green  earth  is  his  jjrostrate 

proy, 
And  he  darkens  the  sun  at  the  noon 

of  the  day. 

Mary  Houitt.^ 


THE    NAHTILUS. 

Where     southern     suns     and 


I 


winds 


prevail. 
And  undulate  the  summer  seas, 
The  Nautilus  expands  his  sail. 

And    scuds    before    the    freshening 

breeze. 

Oft  is  a  little  squadron  seen 

Of  mimic  ships,  all  rigged  complete  ; 
Fancy  might  think  the  fairy-queen 

Was  sailing  with  her  elfin  fleet. 

With  liow  much  beauty  is  designed 
Each     channeled     bark     of     purest 
white  ! 

With  orient  pearl  each  cabin  lined. 
Varying  with  every  change  of  light 

Wliile  with  his  little  slender  oars, 
His  silken  sail  and  tapering  ma3t, 

T!i     dauntless  mariner  explores 
Tlie  dangers  of  the  ^^atery  waste  ; 

Prepared,  sliould  tempests  rend  the  sky. 
From  harm  his  fragile  bark  to  keep, 

He  furls  his  sail,  his  oars  lays  by. 
And  seeks  his  safety  in  the  deep. 

Then  safe  on  ocean's  shelly  bed. 

He  hears  the  storm  above  him  roar, 

'Mid  groves  of  coral  glowing  red, 

And  rocks  o'erhung  with  madrepore 

So  let  us  catch  life's  favouring  gale  ; 

But,  if  fate's  adverse  winds  be  rude 
Take  calmlj'  in   the  adventurous  sail, 

And  find  repose  in  solitude. 

Charlotte  Smith. 


THE   KITTEN. 

Wanton  droll,  whose  harmless  play 
Beguiles  the  rustic's  closing  day, 
Wiien  drawn  the  evening  fire  about. 
Sit  aged   crone  and   thoughtless   lout. 
And  child  upon  his  tlu-ee-foot  stool 
Waiting  till  his  supper  cool. 
And  maid,  whose  cheek  out-blooms  the 

rose, 
As  bright  the  blazing  fagot  glows  ; 
Come   show   thy   tricks   and   sportive 

graces, 
Thus  circled  round  with  merry  faces, 


Insects,   Birds,  and   Beasts. 


211 


Backward  coil'd,  and  crouching  low, 
With  glaiiiiEc  eye-balls  watch  tliy  foe. 
The  house-wife's  spindle  whirling  round, 
Or  thread  or  straw,  that  on  tlu;  ground 
Its  shadow  throws,  by  urcliin  sly 
Held  out  to  lure  thy  roving  eye  ; 
Then,  onward  stealing,  fiercely  spring 
Upon  the  futile,  faithless  thing  ; 
Now,    wheeling    round    with    bootless 

skill, 
Thy  bo-ppcp  tail  provokes  thee  still. 
As  oft  heyoiul  thy  curving  side 
Its  jetty  tip  is  seen  to  glide. 
And  see  !    tlie  start,  the  jet,  the  bound. 
The  giddy  scamper  round  and  round, 
Witli  leap,  and  jerk,  and  high  curvet, 
And  many  a  whu-Jing  somerset ; 
But,  stopppfi  the  while  thy  wanton  play. 
Applauses  now  thy  feats  repay  ; 
For  now,  beneath  some  urchin's  hand. 
With    modest    pride    thou    tak'st    1  liy 

stand, 
Wiiiie  many  a  stroke  of  fondness  glides 
.Mong  thy  back  and  tabby  sides. 
Dilated    swells    thy    glossy    fur, 
Anfl   loudly  sings  thy  busy  purr  ; 
As,  tuning  v;ell  the  equal  sound. 
Thy  clutching  feet  be-pat  the  ground. 
And  all  their  harmless  claws  disclose. 
Like  prickles  of  an  early  rose  ; 
While  softly  from  thy  whisker'd  cheek 
Thy    half-closed    ej'cs    peer    mild    and 

uieek. 

Joanna   Baillie. 


THE  KITTEN  AT  PLAY. 

See  the  kitten  on  the  wall. 
Sporting  with  the  leaves  that  fall. 
Withered  leaves,  one,  two,  and  three 
Falling  from  the  elder-tree. 
Through  the  calm  and  frosty  air 
Of  the  morning  bright  and  fair. 

See  the  kitten,  how  slie  starts. 
Crouches,  stretches,  paws  and  darts 
With  a  tiger-leap  half  way 
Now  she  meets  her  coming  prey. 
Lets  it  go  as  fast  and  then 
Has  it  in  her  power  again. 

Now  slie  works  with  three  and  four. 
Like  an  Indian  conjurer  ; 
Qu'ck  as  he  'n  feats  of  art. 


Gracefully  she  plays  her  i)art  ; 
Yet  were  gazing  thousands  there. 
What  would  little  Tabby  care  Y 

WiUiam  Wordsworth. 


THE    RETIRED    CAT. 

A  poet'.s  cat,  sedate  and  grave 
As  poet  well  could  wish  to  have. 
Was  much  addicted  to  inquire 
For  nooks  to  which  she  miuht  retire, 
And  \\here,  secure  as  mouse  in  chink. 
She  might  repose,  or  sit  and  think 


Sometimes  ascending,  deboimair. 
An  apple-tree,  or  lofty  pear, 
Ivodgcd  with  convenience  in  the  fork 
She  watched  the  gardener  at  his  work  ; 
Sometimes  her  ease  and  solace  sought 
In  an  old  empty  watering-pot ; 
Tliere,  wanting  nothing  but«a  fan. 
To  seem  some  nymph  in  her  sedan. 
Apparelled  in  exactest  sort. 
And  ready  to  be  borne  to  court. 

But  love  of  change  it  seems  has  place 
Not  only  in  our  wiser  race  ; 
Cats  also  feel,  as  well  as  we. 
That  passion's  force,  and  so  did  she. 
Her  climbing,  she  began  to  find, 
Exposed  her  too  much  to  the  wind. 
And  the  old  vitensil  of  tin 
Was  cold  and  comfortless  within  : 
She  therefore  wished,  instead  of  those. 
Some  place  of  more  secure  repose, 
Wiiere  neither  cold  might  come,  nor  air 
Too  rudely  wanton  with  her  hair. 
And  sought  it  in  the  likeliest  mode 
Within  her  master's  snug  abode. 

A  drawer,  it  chanced,  at  bottom  lined 
With  linen  of  the  softest  kind — 
A  drawer  impending  o'er  the  rest. 
Half  open,  in  the  top-most  chest. 
Of  depth  enough,  and  none  to  spare. 
Inviting  her  to  slumber   there. 
Puss,  with  delight  beyond  expression, 
Surveyed  the  scene  and  took  possession. 
Then  resting  at  her  ease,  ere  long. 
And  lulled  by  her  own  hum-drum  song, 

She  left  the  cares  of  life   behind. 
And  slept  as  she  would  sleep  her  last ; 

When  in  cau»e,  housewifely  inclined, 

14* 


212 


Poems  for  Children. 


The  chambermaid,  and  shut  it  fast ; 
By  no  malignity  impelled. 
But  all  unconscious  \?hom  it  held. 
Awakened  by  the  shock,  cried  Puss, 
"  Was  ever  cat  attended  thus  ! 
The  open  drawer  was  left  I  see, 
Merely  to  prove  a  nest  for  me  ; 
For  soon  as  I  was  well  composed. 
Then  came  the  maid,  and  it  was  closed. 
How  smooth  these  kerchiefs  and  how 

sweet ; 
Oh  !   what  a  delicate  retreat, 
I  will  resign  myself  to  rest. 
Till  Sol  declining  in  the  west. 
Shall  call  to  supper,  when,  no  doubt, 
Susan  will  come  and  let  me  out." 

The  evening  came,  the  sun  descended. 
And  Puss  remained  still  imattended. 
The  night  rolled  tardily  away 
(With  her,  indeed,  'twas  never  day). 
The  sprightly  moon  her  course  renewed. 
The  evening  grey  again  ensued  ; 
And  Puss  came  into  mind  no  more 
Than  if  entombed  the  day  before. 
With    hunger    pinched,    and    pinched 

for  room. 
She  now  presaged  approaching  doom, 
Nor  slept  a  single  wink  or  purred. 
Conscious  of  jeopardy  incurred. 

That    night,     by    chance,     the     poet 

watching. 
Heard  an  inexplicable  scratching  ; 
His  noble  heart  went  pit-a-pat. 
And    to    himself    he    said,    "  What's 

that  ?  " 
He  drew  the  curtain  at  his  side. 
And    forth    he    peeped,    but    nothing 

spied ; 
Yet,  by  his  ear  directed,  guessed 
Something  imprisoned  in  the  chest, 
And  doubtful  what,  with  prudent  care. 
Resolved  it  should   continue   there. 
At  length  a  voice  which  well  he  knew, 
A  long  and  melancholy  mew. 
Saluting  his  poetic  ears. 
Consoled  him  and  dispelled  his  fears. 
He  left  his  bed,  he  trod  the  floor, 
And  'gan  in  haste  the  drawers  exj)lore. 
The  lowest  first,  and  without  stop 
The  rest  in  order,  to  the  top  ; 
For  'tis  a  truth  well  known  to  most, 
That  whatsoever  thing  is  lost. 
We  seek  it  ere  it  come  to  light 
In  every  cranny  but  the  right. 


Forth  skipped  the  cat,  not  now  replete. 
As  erst,   with  airy  self-conceit. 
Nor  in  her  own  fond  apprehension 
A  theme  for  all  the  world's  attention  ; 
But  sober,  modest,  cured  of  all 
Her  notions  so  hyperbolical. 
And  wishing  for  her  place  of  rest 
Anything  rather  than  a  chest. 
Then  stepped  the  poet  into  bed 
With  tliis  reflection  in  his  head : 


Beware  of  too  sublime  a  sense 
Of  your  own  worth  and  consequence  ! 
The  man  who  dreams  himself  so  great. 
And  his  importance  of  such  Aveight, 
That  all  around  in  all  that's  done. 
Must  move  and  act  for  him  alone. 
Will  learn  in  school  of  tribulatiou. 
The  folly  of  his  expectation. 

William  Cowper. 


INDUSTRY  OF  ANIMALS. 

The  lute- voice  birds  rise  with  the  light. 
Their  nestling  young  to  feed. 

Pursue  the  insects  in  their  flight, 
Or  pluck  the  feathery  seed. 

The  golden-belted  humming  bee 

Goes  toiling  hour  by  hour. 
Over  the  moor  and  distant  lea. 

Wherever  grows  a  flower. 

With  weary  journeys  up  and  down. 
He  home  his  honej'  brings. 

From  gardens  in  the  distant  town. 
And  while  he  labours  sings. 

The  long- tailed  field-mouse  to  the  wood 
Makes  journeys  many  a  score. 

And  in  a  granary  piles  his  food. 
And  hoards  his  wintry  store. 

Within  the  hollow  of  a  tree 

The  nimble  squirrel  hides 
His  meat  and  nuts  right  cunningly. 

And  for  the  cold  provides. 

His  home  the  mole  makes  underground. 
With  runs  and  chambers  crossed. 

And  galleries  circling  round  and  round. 
In  which  you  would  be  lost. 


Insects,   Birds,  and   Beasts. 


213 


Although  the  swallow  in  her  nest 
Displays  such  art  and  skill. 

She  has  no  tools  save  her  white  breast, 
And  small  sharp-pointed  bill. 

There's  not  an  insect  crawls  or  flies 
But  what  has   work  to  do. 

And  the  same  God  their  want  supplies 
Who  watcheth  over  you. 

No  single  thing  did  God  create. 

But  he  for  it  gave  food, 
And  whether  it  be  small  or  great, 

"  He  saw  that  it  was  good." 

Thomas  Miller. 


INCIDENT. 

CHARACTERISTIO   OF   A   FAVOURITE   DOO. 

On  his  morning  rounds,  the  master 

Goes  to  learn  how  all  tilings  fare  ; 
Searches  pasture  after  pasture. 

Sheep  and  cattle  eyes  m  ith  care  : 
And  for  silence  or  for  talk, 

He  hath  comrades  in  his  walk  ; 
Four  dogs,    each  pair   of    different 

breed. 
Distinguished  two  for  scent,  and  two 

for  speed. 

See  a  hare  before  him  started  ! 
Off  they  fly  in  earnest  chase ; 
Every  dog  is  eager-hearted  ; 
All  the  four  are  in  the  race : 
,     And  the  hare  whom  they  pursue 
i'        Knows  from  instinct  what  to  do  ; 
Her   hope   is    near ;     no    turn    she 
makes; 
But,  hke  an  arrow,  to  the  river  takes. 

Deep  the  river  was,  and  crusted 

Tninly  by   a  one  night's  frost. 
But  the  nimbler  hare  has  trusted 

To  the  ice,  and  safely  crossed  ; 
She  hath  crossed,  and  without  heed 

All  are  following  at  full  speed  ; 
When  lo  !  the  ice,  so  thinly  spread. 
Breaks — and   the  gieyhound.  Dart,  is 

over-head  I 

Better  fate  have  Prince  and  Swallow  : 
See  tlicra  cleaving  to  the  sport  1 

Music  hath  no  heart  to  follow. 
Little  Music  she  stops  short. 


She  hath  neither  wish  nor  heart ; 

Hers  is  now  another  part : 
A  loving  creature  she,  and  brave  ! 
And     fondly     strives     her     struggling 

friend  to  save. 

From  the  brink  her  paw  she  stretches. 

Very  hands,  as  you  would  say. 
And  afflicting  moans  she  fetches 

As  he  breaks  the  ice  away 
For  herself  she  hath  no  fears  : 

Him  alone  she  sees  and  hears. 
Makes  efforts  and  complainings,  nor 

gives  o'er  , 

Until  her  fellow  sank,  and  reappeared 

no  more. 

William  Wordnwurlh. 


THE    DOG    AND    THE    WATER 
LIL>Y. 

The  noon  was  shady,  and  soft  airs 

Swept  Ouse's  silent  tide. 
When,   'scaped   from   literary  cares, 

I  wandered  on  his  side. 

My  spaniel,  prettiest  of  his  race, 

And  high  in  pedigree 
(Two    nymphs,    adorned    with    every 
grace. 

That  spaniel  found  for  me). 

Now  wantoned  lost  in  flags  and  reeds. 

Now  starting  into  sight. 
Pursued  the  swallow  o'er  the  meads 

With  scarce  a  slower  flight. 

It  was  the  time  when  Ouse  displayed 

His  hUes  newly  blown  ; 
Their  beauties  I  intent  surv-eyed, 

And  one  I  wished  my  own. 

With  cane  extended,  far  I  sought 

To  steer  it  close  to  land ; 
But    still    the    prize,    though    nearly 
caught. 

Escaped   my  eager  hand. 

Beau  marked  my  unsuccessful  pains. 

With  fixt  considerate  face. 
And  puzzling  set  his  puppy  brains 

To  comprehend  the  case. 


214 


Poems  for  Children. 


But  ■with  a  chirrup  clear  and  strong. 

Dispersing  all  his  dream, 
I  thence  withdrew,  and  followed  long 

The  windings  of  the  stream. 

My  ramble  finished,  I  returned. 

Beau   trotting  far   before, 
The  floating  T\Teath  again  discerned. 

And  plunging  left  the  sliore. 

I  saw  him  with  that  lily  cropped. 

Impatient  swim  to  meet 
M3'     quick    approach,     and     soon     he 
dropped 

The  treasure  at  my  feet. 

Charmed    with    the    sight,    the    world, 
I    cried, 

Shall  hear  of  this  thy  deed  : 
My  dog  shall  mortify  the  pride 

Of  man's  superior  breed  : 

Biit  chief  mj'self  I  will  enjoin. 

Awake  at  duty's  call. 
To  show  a  love  as  prompt  as  thine, 

To  Him  who  gives  me  all. 

William  Coiv^ier. 


ON    A    SPANIEL    CALLED 

"BEATJ"    KILLING    A    YOUNG 

BIED. 

A  SPAKiEL,  Beau,  that  fares  like  you. 

Well  fed,  and  at  his  ease. 
Should  wiser  be  than  to  pursue 

Each  triHe  that  he  sees. 

But  you  have  killed  a  tiny  bird 

^Vhich  hew  not  till  to-day. 
Against  my  orders,  when  you  heard 

Forbidding  you  the  prey. 

Nor  did  you  kill  that  you  might  eat 

And  ease  a  doggish  pain  ; 
For  him,   though  chased  with  furious 
heat, 

Yon  left  where  he  was  slain. 

Xor  Avas  he  of  the  thievish  sort, 
Or  one  whom  blood  allures. 

But  innocent  was  all  his  spurt 
Whom  you  have  torn  for  jours. 


My  dog  !     what  remedy  remains. 
Since  teach  you  all  !  can. 

I  see  you,  after  all  my  pains, 
So  much  resemble  m.in. 

William   Coicper. 


BEAU'S  BEPLY. 

i^lR,  when  I  flew  to  seize  the  bird 
fn  spite  of  j'our  command, 

A  louder  voice  than  yours  I  heard 
And  harder  to  withstand. 

You    cried,    "  Forbear  !  " — but   in    mj" 
breast 

A   mightier  cried,   "  Proceed  !  " — 
'Twas  -Nature,  sir,  whose  strong  behest 

Impelled  me  to  the  deed. 

Yet  much  as  Nature  I  respect, 

I  ventured  once  to  break 
(As  you  perhaps  may  recollect) 

Her  precept  for  your  sake  ; 

And  when  your  linnet  on  a  day, 

Passing  his  prison  door. 
Had  fluttered  all  his  strength  awaj'. 

And  panting,  jiressed  the  floor; 

Well  knowing  him  a  sacred  thing. 

Not  destined  to  my  tooth, 
I  only  kissed  his  ruffled  wing. 

And  licked  the  feathers  smooth. 

Let  my  obedience  then  excuse 

.M3'  disobedience  now ; 
Nor  some  reproof  yourself  refuse 

From  j'our  aggrieved  Bow-wow  ; 

If  killing  birds  be  such  a  crime 

(Which  I  can  hardly  *ep). 
Wiiat  think  30U,  sir,  of  killing  Time 

With  verse  addressed  to  me  ? 


William  Cowper, 


THE    WOODMAN'S   DOG. 

Forth    goes    tiie    wooihnan,     leaving 

unconcerned 
The  cheerful  haunts  of  man,  to  wield 

the  axe. 


Insects,   Birds,  and   Beasts. 


21o 


And  drive  the  wedge  in  yonder  forest 

(Ii'ear, 
I'l-oni  morn  to  eve  his  solitary  task. 
Shaggy,    and   lean,    and   shrewd,    with 

pointed   ears, 
And  tail  cropped  short,  half  lurcher  and 

half  cur, 
His    dog    attends    him.     Close    behind 

his  heel 
Now  creeps  he — slow  ;    and  now,  with 

many  a  frisk 
Wide    scampering,     snatches    up    the 

drifted  snow 
With  ivory  teeth,  or  ploughs  it  with 

his  snout. 
Then  shakes  his   powdered   coat,   and 

barks  for  joy. 
Heedless  of  all  his  pranks,  the  sturdy 

churl 
Moves    right    towards    the    mark,    nor 

stops  for  aught ; 
But  now   and   then,  with  pressure   of 

his  thumb. 
To    adjust   the    fragrant    charge    of   a 

short  tube 
That    fumes    beneath    his    nose ;     the 

trailing  cloud 
Streams    far    behind    him   scenting  all 

the  air. 

William  Cowper, 


AN  EPITAPH. 
Here  lies  one  who  never  drew 
Blood  himself,  yet  many  slew  ; 
Gave  the  gun  its  aim,  and  figure 
Made  in  field,  yet  ne'er  pulled  trigger. 
Armed  men  have  gladly  made 
Him  their  guide,  and  him  obeyed  ; 
At  his  signified  desire. 
Would  advance,  present,  and  fire. 
Stout  he  was,  and  large  of  limb. 
Scores  have  fied  at  sight  of  him  ; 
And  to  all  this  fame  he  rose 
Only  following  his  nose. 
Keptune  was  he  called,  not  he 
Who  controls  the  boisterous  sea. 
But  of  happier  command, 
Keptune  of  the  furrowed  land  ; 
And  your  wonder  vain  to  shorten, 
FoirUcr  to  Sir  John  Throckmorton. 


William  Cou'per. 


FIDELITY. 

A  BARKING  sound  the  shepherd  hears. 

A  cry  as  of  a  dog  or  fox  ; 

He  halts,  and  searches  with  his  eye 

Among  the   scattered   rocks : 

And  now  at  distance  can  discern 

A  stirring  in  a  brake  of  fern  ; 

And  instantly  a  dog  is  seen. 

Glancing  through  that  covert  green. 

The  Dog  is  not  of  mountain  breed  ; 

Its  motions,  too,  are  wild  and  shy  ; 

With  something,  as  the  shepherd  thinks. 

Unusual  in  its  cry : 

Xor  is  there  any  one  in  sight 

All  round,  in  hollow  or  on  height ; 

Xor  shout  nor  whistle  strikes  his  ear — 

WTiat  is  the  creature  doing  here  ? 

It  was  a  cove,  a  huge  recess, 

That  keeps,  till  June,  December's  snow  ; 

A  lofty  precipice  in  front, 

A  silent  tarn  below  ; 

Far  in  the  bosom  of  Helvellyn, 

Remote  from  public  road  or  dwelling, 

Pathway,  or  cultivated  land  ; 

From  trace  of  liuman  foot  or  hand. 

There  sometimes  doth  a  leaping  l]sh 
Send  through  the  tarn  a^ lonely  cheer: 
The  crags  repeat  the  raven's  croak. 
In  symphony  austere  : 
Thither  the  rainbow  comes,  the  cloud 
..'Vnd  mists  that  spread  the  fiying  shroud 
And  sunbeams  ;  and  the  sounding  blast. 
That  if  it  could  would  hurry  past-- 
But  that  enormous  barrier  holds  it  fast. 

Not  free  from  boding  thoughts,  a  while 
The  Shepherd  stood  ;    then  makes  his 

way 
O'er  rocks  and  stones,  following  the  Dog 
As  quickly  as  he  may  ; 
Nor  far  had  gone  before  he  found 
A  human  skeleton  on  the  ground  ! 
The  appall'd  discoverer  with  a  sigh 
Looks  round,  to  learn  the  history. 

From  those  abrupt  and  perilous  rocks 

The  Man  had  fallen— that  place  of  fear  ! 

At  length  upon  the  Shepherd's  mind 

It  breaks  and  all  is  clear  : 

He  instantly  recalled  the  name, 

And  who  he  was,  and  whence  he  came  ; 

Remembered,  too,  the  very  day 

On  which  the  Traveller  passed  that  way. 


216 


Poems  for  Children. 


3ut  hear  a  wonder,  for  whose  sake 

This  lamentable  tale  I  tell — 

A  lasting  monument  of  worda 

This  -wonder  merits  well. 

The  Dog,  which  still  was  hovering  nigh. 

Repeating  the  same  timid  cry. 

This    Dog    had    been,    tlirough    tlnee 

months'  space, 
A  dweller  in  that  savage  place  ! 

Yes,  proof  was  plain  that  since  the  day 
When  tliis  ill-fated  Traveller  died. 
The  Dog  had  watched  about  the  spot. 
Or  by  his  master's  side  : 
How  nourished  here  through  such  long 

time 
He  knows,  who  gave  that  love  sublin\e. 
And  gave  that  strength  of  feeling,  great 
Above  all  human  estimate. 

William  Wordsworth. 


TO  A  D0&. 

Dear  faithful  object  of  my  tender  care. 
Whom    but    my    partial    eyes    none 

fancy  fair ; 
May   I   unblamed   display   thy   social 

mirth. 
Thy    modest    virtues,    and    domestic 

worth  : 
Thou    silent,     humble    flatterer,     yet 

sincere. 
More   swayed   by  love    than   interest 

or  fear ; 
Solely  to  })\eaae  thy   most  ambitious 

view. 
As  lovers  fond,  and  more  than  lovers 

true. 
Who  can  resist  those  dumb  beseeching 

eyes, 
Where    genuine    eloquence    persuasive 

lies  ? 
Those  eyes,  when  language  fails,  dis- 
play thy  heart 
Beyond  the  pomp  of  piu-ase  and  pride 

of  art. 
Thou  safe   companion,   and   almost  a 

friend. 
Whose  kind  attachment  but  with  life 

shall   end — 
Blest  were  mankind  if  many  a  prouder 

name 
Could    boast    thy  grateful   truth   and 

spotless  fame  ! 

Anna  Letitia  Barbauld, 


THE  MOUSE'S  PETITIOIT. 

FOUND  IN  A  TBAP  WHERE  HE  HAD   BEKN 
CONFINED  ALL  NIGHT. 

Oh  !    hear  a  pensive  prisoner's  prayer. 

For  liberty  that  sighs  ; 
And  never  let  thine  heart  be  shut 

Against  the  WTetch's  cries. 

For  here  forlorn  and  sad  I  sit, 

Within  the  wiry  grate  ; 
And  tremble  at  the  approaching  morn, 

Which  brings  impending  fate. 

If  e'er  thy  breast  with  freedom  glow'd. 
And  spurn'd  a  tyrant's  chain. 

Let  not  thy  strong  oppressive  force 
A  free-born  Mouse  detain. 

O  !   do  not  stain  with  guiltless  blood 

Thy  hospitable  hearth  ; 
Nor  triumph  that  thy  wiles  betrayed 

A  prize  so  little  worth. 

The  scattered  gleanings  of  a  feast 

My  frugal  meals  supply  : 
But  if  thine  unrelenting  heart 

■That  slender  boon  deny. 

The  cheerful  light,  the  vital  air. 
Are  blessings  widely  given  ; 

I^et  nature's  commoners  enjoy 
The  common  gifts  of  Heaven. 

The  well-taught  philosophic  mind 

To  all  compassion  gives  ; 
Cast  round  the  world  an  equal  eye. 

And  feel  for  all  that  lives. 

If  mind,  as  ancient  sages  taught, 

A  never  dying  flame. 
Still    sliifts   through    matter's    varying 
forms, 

In  every  form  the  same  : 

Beware,  lest  in  the  worm  you  crush, 

A  brother's  soul  you  And  ; 
And  tremble  lest  thy  luckless  hand 

Dislodge  a  kindred  mind. 

Or,  if  this  transient  gleam  of  day 

Be  all  of  life  we  share  ; 
Let  pity  plead  within  thy  breast. 

That  little  all  to  spare. 


Insects,  Birds,  and   Beasts. 


217 


So  may  thy  hospitable  board 

With  health  and  peace  be  crowned  ; 
And  every  charm  of  heart-felt  ease 

Beneath  thy  roof  be  found. 

So,  when  Destruction  lurks  unseen. 
Which  men  like  mice  may  share  ; 

Maj'  some  kind  angel  clear  thy  path. 
And  break  the  hidden  snare. 

A7ina  Letitia  Barbauld. 


THE   WOUNDED    HARE. 

Inhuman  man  !  curse  on  thy  barbarous 
art, 
And  blasted  be  thy  murder-aiming 

eye; 
May  never  pity  soothe  thee  with  a 
sigh. 
Nor    ever    pleasure    glad    thy    cruel 
heart ! 

— Go,  live,  poor  wanderer  of  the  wood 
and  field. 
The  bitter  little  that  of  life  remains  ; 
No  more  the  tliickening  brakes  and 
verdant  plains 
To  thee  shall  home,  or  food,  or  pastime 
yield. 

Seek,  mangled  wretch,  some  place  of 
wonted  rest. 
No  more  of  rest,  but  now  thy  dying 

bed  ! 
The  sheltering  rushes  whistling  o'er 
thy  head, 
The  cold  earth  with  thy  bloody  bosom 
prest. 

Oft   as   by   winding   Nith,    I,    musing, 
wait 
The  sober  eve,  or  hail  the  cheerful 

dawn, 
I'll  miss  thee  sporting  o'er  the  dewy 
lawn. 
And  curse  the  ruffian's  aim,  and  mourn 
thy  hapless  fate. 

Robert  Burns. 


Whose  foot  ne'er  tainted  morning  dew 
Nor  ear  heard  huntsman's  halloo; 

Old  Tiney,  siu"liest  of  his  kind. 
Who,  nursed  with  tender  care, 

And  to  domestic  bounds  confined. 
Was  still  a  wild  Jack  hare. 

Though  duly  from  my  hand  he  took 

His   pittance  every  night 
He  did  it  with  a  jealous  look. 

And,  when  he  could,  would  bite. 

His  diet  was  of  wheaten  bread. 
And  milk,  and  oats,  and  straw ; 

Thistles,  or  lettuces  instead. 
With  sand  to  scour  his  maw. 

On  twigs  of  hawthorn  he  regaled. 

On  pippins  russet  peel. 
And,  when  his  juicy  salads  failed. 

Sliced  carrot  pleased  him  well. 

A  Tiu-key  carpet  was  his  lawn. 
Whereon  he  loved  to  bound 

To  skip  and  gambol  hke  a  fawn 
And  swing  his  rump  around. 

His  frisking  was  at  evening  hours, 

For  then  he  lost  his  fear. 
But  most  before  approaching  showers 

Or  when  a  storm  drew  near. 

Eight    years    and    five    round-rolling 
moons. 

He  thus  saw  steal  away. 
Dozing  out  all  his  idle  noons. 

And  every  night  at  play. 

I  kept  him  for  his  humour's  sake. 

For  he  would  oft  beguile 
My  heart  of  thoughts  that  made  it  ache. 

And  force  me  to  a  smile. 

But  now  beneath  this  walnut  shade. 
He  finds  his  long,  last  home. 

And  waits  in  snug  concealment  laid. 
Till  gentler  Puss  shall  come. 


EPITAPH   ON   A    HARE. 

Here    lies,    whom    hound    did    ne'er 
pursue. 
Nor  swifter  greyhound  follow. 


He,  still  more  aged,  feels  the  shocks 
From  which  no  care  can  save. 

And,  partner  once  of  Tiney's  box. 
Must  soon  partake  his  grave. 

William  Cotvper. 


218 


Poems  for  Children. 


THE    MONKEY. 

Look  now  at  his  odd  grimaces, 
Saw  you  e'er  such  comic  faces  ? 
Now  like  learned  judge  sedate. 
Now  with  nonsense  in  his  pate. 

Look  now  at  him.     Shly  peep. 
He  pretends  he  is  asleep — 
Fast  asleep  upon  his  bed, 
With  his  arm  beneath  his  h'.ad. 

Ha  !   he  is  not  half  asleep. 
See,  he  shly  takes  a  peep  ! 
Monkey,  though  yoirr  eyes  are  shut, 
You  could  see  this  little  nut. 

There,  the  little  ancient  man 
Cracks  as  fast  as  e'er  he  can  ; 
Now,  good-bye,  you  funny  fellow. 
Nature's  primest  Punchinello  ! 

Mary  Howitl. 


liAMBS  AT  PliAY. 

Say,  ye  that  know,  ye  who  have  felt 

and  seen 
Spring's     morning    smiles     and     soul- 

enhvening  green, 
Say,  did  you  give  the  thrilling  transport 

way  ? 
Did   your  eye   brighten,   when  young 

lambs  at  ])!ay 
Leaped  o'er  your  path  with  animated 

pride. 
Or  gazed  in  meri-y  clusters  by  your 

side  ? 
Ye  who  can  smile — to  wisdom  no  dis- 
grace. 
At  the  arch  meaning  of  a  kitten's  face  : 
If  spotless  innocence,  and  infant  mirth. 
Excites    to    praise   or   gives   reflection 

birth  ; 
In    shades    like    these    pursue    your 

favourite  joy, 
'Midst  Nature's  revels,  sports  that  never 

cloy. 
A    few    begin    a    short    but    vigorous 

race. 
And    Indolence,    abashed,    soon    flies 

the  place  : 
Thus    challenged    forth,    see     thither, 

one  by  one, 


From  every  side  assembhng  playmates 

run  ; 
A    thousand    wily    antics    mark    their 

stay, 
A  starting  crowd,  impatient  of  delay  : 
Like  the  fond  dove  from  fearful  prison 

freed. 
Each  seems  to  say,  "  Come,  let  us  try 

our  speed." 
Away  they  scour,  impetuous,   ardent, 

strong. 
The  green  tui'f  trembling  as  they  bound 

along  ; 
Adown  the  slope,  then  up  the  hillock 

chmb, 
Where    every    molehill    is    a    bed    of 

thyme ; 
There,    panting,    stop ;     yet    scarcely 

can  refrain, 
A  bird,  a  leaf,  will  set  them  off  again  : 
Or,    if   a   gale   with   strength   unusual 

blow. 
Scattering    the    wild-briar    roses    into 

snow. 
Their    httle    hmbs    increasing    efforts 

try, 
Like  the  torn  flower,  the  fair  assem-_ 

blage   fly. 
Ah,  fallen  rose  !    sad  emblem  of  their 

doom  ; 
Frail  as  thyself,  they  perish  while  they 

bloom  1 

Bobert  Bloomfidd. 


THE  BliOOD   HORSE. 

Gamarka  is  a  dainty  steed, 

Strong,  black,  and  of  a  noble  bi'eed. 

Full  of  fire,  and  full  of  bone. 

All  his  line  of  fathers  known  ; 

Fine  his  nose,  his  nostrils  thin. 

But  blown  abroad  by  the  pride  within  I 

His  mane,  a  stormy  river  flowing. 

And  his  eyes  hke  embers  glowing 

In  the  darkne-ss  of  the  night. 

And  his  pace  as  swift  as  light. 

Look — around  his  straining  throat, 
Crace  and  shifting  beauty  float  ! 
Sinewy  strength  is  in  his  reins, 
And    the    red    blood    gallops    through 

his  veins. 
Richer,  redder,  never  ran 
Through  the   boasting  heart   of  man. 


Insects,   Birds,   and   Beasts. 


219 


He  can  trace  his  lineage  hiulicr 
Than  the  Boiii)  on  dare  aspire. — • 
Douglas,  Guznu  u,  or  the  Guelpli, 
Or  O'Brien's  blood  itself  ! 

He,  who  hath  no  peer,  was  born, 
Here,  upon  a  red  Slarch  morn  ; 
l>ut   his  famous  fathers  dead 
Were  Arabs  all,  and  Arab  bred. 
And  the  last  of  that  great  line 
Trod  like  one  of  race  divine  ! 
And  yet — he  was  but  friend  to  one, 
Who  fed  him  at  the  set  of  sun, 
J3y   some   lone    fountain    fringed  with 

green  : 
With  him,  a  roving  Bedouin, 
He  lived  (none  else  would  he  obey 
Through  all  the  hot  Arabian  day). — 
And  died  untamed,  upon  the  sands 
Where  Balkh  amidst  the  desert  stands  ! 
Barry   Cornwall. 


THE    SaUIRREIi. 

"  The  squirrel  is   happy,  the   squirrel 
is  gay," 
Little     Henry     exclaim'd     to     his 
brother  ; 
"  He  has  nothing  to  do  or  to  think  of 
but  play. 
And    to   jump    from    one    bough  to 
another." 

But  William  was  older  and  wiser,  and 
knew 
That  all  play  and  no  work  would  not 
answer. 
So  he  ask'd  what  the  squirrel  in  winter 
must  do, 
If  he  spent  all  the  summer  a  dancer. 

"  The  squirrel,  dear  Harry,  is  merry  and 
wise, 
For  true  wisdom  and    mirth  go  to- 
gether ; 
He    lays    up    in    summer    his    winter 
supplies. 
And  then   he   don't   mind    the     cold 
weather."' 

litrnard  liarlon. 


THE    SQUIRREIj. 
Drawn  from  his  refuge  in  some  lonely 

elm 
That    age    or    injmy    hath    hollowed 

deep. 


Where,  in  his  bed  of  wool  and  matted 

leaves. 
He  has  outslept  the  winter,   ventures 

forth 
To  frisk  awhile,  and  bask  in  the  warm 

sun  : 
He  sees  me,  and  at  once,  swift  as  a 

bird, 
The  squirrel,  flippant,  pert,  and  full  ot 

play. 

Ascends  the  neighbouring  beech  :  there 

whisks  his  brush. 
And   perks  his  ears,   and  stamps  and 

cries  aloud. 
With  all  the  prettiness  of  feigned  alarm 
And  anger  insignificantly  fierce.. 

William  Cotvper. 


THE  CAMEL. 

Camel,  thou  art  good  and  mild. 
Might' st  be  guided  by  a  child  ; 
Thou  wast  made  for  usefulness, 
]\Ian  to  comfort  and  to  bless  : 
Thou    dost    clothe    him ;     thou    dost 

feed  ; 
Thou  dost  lend  to  him  thy  speed  ; 
And  through  wilds  of  tractless  sand, 
In  the  hot  Arabian  land. 
Where  no  rock  its  shadow  throws, 
AV'here  no  cooling  water  flows. 
Where  the  hot  air  is  not  stirred 
By  the  wing  of  singing  bird  ; 
There  thou  goest,  untired  and  meek, 
Day  by  day,  and  week  by  week, 
AVitli  thy  load  of  precious  things — 
Silks  for  merchants,  gold  for  kings. 
Pearls  of  Ormuz,  riches  rare. 
Damascene  and  Indian  ware — 
Bale  on  bale,  and  heap  on  heap — 
Freighted  like  a  costly  ship  ! 
And  when  week  by  week  is  gone. 
And  the  traveller  journeys  on 
Feebly  ;   when  his  strength  is  fled. 
And  his  hope  and  heart  seem  dead. 
Camel,  thou  dost  turn  thine  eye 
On  him  kindly,  soothingly. 
As  if  thou  wouldst,  cheering,  say, 
"  .fourney  on  for  this  one  day — 
Do  not  let  thy  heart  despond  I 
There  is  water  j'et  beyoncl ! 
1  can  scent  it  in  the  air — 
Do  not  let  thy  heart  despair  !  " 
And  thou  guids't  the  traveller  there. 


Mary  Ilowitl. 


220 


Poems  for  Children. 


THE  Lioisr. 

Lion,  thou  art  girt  with  might  f 
King  by  uncontested  right  ; 
Strength,  and  majesty,  and  pride. 
Are  in  thee  personified  ! 
Slavish  doubt,  or  timid  fear. 
Never  came  thy  spirit  near  ; 
What  is  it  to  fly,  or  bow 
To  a  mightier  than  thou. 
Never  has  been  known  to  thee. 
Creature,  terrible  and  free  ! 

Power  the  mightiest  gave  the  Lion, 
Sinews  hke  to  bands  of  iron  ; 
Gave  him  force  which  never  failed  ; 
Gave  a  heart  that  never  quailed. 
Triple-mailed  coat  of  steel, 
Plates  of  brass  from  head  to  heel. 
Less  defensive  were  in  wearing. 
Than  the  Lion's  heart  of  daring ; 
Nor  could  towers  of  strength  impart 
Trust  like  that  which  keeps  his  heart. 

When  he  sends  his  roaring  forth. 
Silence  falls  upon  the  earth  ; 
For  the  creatures,  great  and  small. 
Know  his  terror-breathing  call ; 
And,  as  if  by  death  pursued, 
Leave  him  to  a  soUtude. 

Lion,  thou  art  made  to  dwell 
In  hot  lands,  intractable. 
And  thyself,  the  sun,  the  sand. 
Are  a  tyrannous  triple  band  ; 
Lion-king  and  desert  throne. 
All  the  region  is  your  own ! 

Mary  HotvitL 


THE  TIGEB. 

Tiger,  tiger,  burning  bright 
In  the  forests  in  the  night, 
What  immortal  hand  or  eye 
Could  frame  thy  fearful  symmetry  ? 

In  what  distant  deeps  or  skies 
Biurnt  the  fire  of  thine  eyes  ? 
On  what  wings  dare  he  aspire  ? 
What  the  hand  dare  seize  the  fire  ? 

And  what  shoulder  and  what  art, 
Could  twist  the  sinews  of  thy  heart  ? 


And  when  thy  heart  began  to  beat. 
What  dread  hand  ?    and  what  dread 
feet? 

What  the  hammer  ?    what  the  chain  ? 
In  what  furnace  was  thy  brain  ? 
What  the  anvil  ?   what  dread  grasp 
Dares  its  deadly  terrors  clasp  ? 

When  the  stars  threw  down  their  spears. 
And  water'd  heaven  with  their  tears. 
Did  he  smile  his  work  to  see  ? 
Did  he  who  made  the  lamb  make  thee  ? 

Tiger,  tiger,  burning  bright 
In  the  forests  of  the  night. 
What  immortal  hand  or  eye 
Dare  frame  thy  symmetry  ? 

William  Blake. 


THE    GIBIi   AND    HEB   FAWN". 

With  sweetest  milk  and  sugar  first 

I  it  at  my  fingers  nursed  ; 

And  as  it  grew,  so  every  day 

It  wax'd  more  white  and  sweet  than 

they  :— 
It  had  so  sweet  a  breath  !  and  oft 
I  blush'd  to  see  its  foot  more  soft 
And    white, — shall    I    say, — than    my 

hand  ? 
Nay,  any  lady's  of  the  land  ! 
It  is  a  wondrous  thing  how  fleet 
'Twas  on  those  Mttle  silver  feet : 
With  what  a  pretty  skipping  grace 
It  oft  would  challenge  me  the  race : — 
And  when  't  had  left  me  far  away 
'Twould    stay,    and    run    again,    and 

stay  : 
For  it  was  nimbler  much  than  hinds. 
And  trod  as  if  on  the  four  winds. 

I  have  a  garden  of  my  own, 

But  so  with  roses  overgrown 

And  lihes,  that  you  would  it  guess 

To  be  a  little  wilderness  : 

And  all  the  spring-time  of  the  year 

It  only  loved  to  be  there. 

Among  the  bed  of  lilies  I 

Have  sought  it  oft,   where  it  should 

he; 
Yet  could  not,  till  itself  would  rise. 
Find  it,  although  before  mine  eyes  : — 
For  in  the  flaxen  hhes'  shad 
It  hke  a  bank  of  hhes  laid. 


Insects,  Birds,  and   Beasts. 


221 


Upon  the  roses  it  would  feed. 
Until  its  lips  e'en  seem'd  to  bleed  : 
And  then  to  me  'twould  boldly  trip. 
And  print  those  roses  on  my  lip. 
But  all  its  chief  delight  was  still 
On  roses  thus  itself  to  fill, 
And  its  pure  virgin  limbs  to  fold 
In  whitest  sheets  of  lilies  cold  : — 
Had  it  lived  long,  it  would  have  been 
LiUcs  without, — roses  within. 

Andrew  31  ar veil. 


THE  KID. 

A  TEAR  bedews  my  Delia's  eye 
To  think  yon  playful  kid  must  die ; 
From  crystal  spring  and  flowery  mead 
Must,  in  his  prime  of  hfe,  recede. 

Erewhile  in  sportive  circles,  round 
She   saw    him    wheel,    and    frisk,    and 

bound  ; 
From  rock  to  rock  pursue  his  way. 
And  on  the  fearful  margin  play. 

Pleased  on  his  various  freaks  to  dwell. 
She  saw  him  climb  my  rustic  cell ; 
Thence   eye    my    lawns    with    verdure 

bright. 
And  seem  all  ravished  at  the  sight. 

She  tells  with  what  delight  he  stood 
To  trace  his  footsteps  in  the  flood  : 
Then  skipped  aloof  with  quaint  amaze. 
And  then  drew  near  again  to  gaze. 

She  tells  me  how  with  eager  speed. 
He  flew  to  bear  my  vocal  reecl  ; 
And  how  with  critic  face  profound, 
And  steadfast  ear,  devoured  the  sound. 

His  every  froHc,  hght  as  air. 
Deserves  the  gentle  Delia's  care  ; 
And  tears  bedew  her  tender  eye 
To  think  the  playful  kid  must  die. 

William  Shenslone. 


SING    ON,    BLITHE    BIRD  ! 

I've  plucked  the  berry  from  the  bush, 
the  brown  nut  from  the  tree, 

But  heart  of  happy  little  bird  ne'er 
broken  was  by  me- 


I   saw   them    in   their   curious   nests, 

close  couching,  slyly  peer 
With    their   wild    eyes,    hke   glittering 

beads,  to  note  if  harm  were  near  ; 
I  passed  them  by,  and  blessed  them  all ; 

I  felt  that  it  was  good 
To  leave  unmoved  the  creatures  small 

whose  home  was  in  the  wood. 

And  here,  even  now,  above  my  head,  a 

lusty  rouge  doth  sing  ; 
He  pecks  his  swelling  breast  and  neck, 

and  trims  his  little  wing. 
He  will  not  fly  ;    he  Icnows  full  well, 

while  chirping  on  that  spray, 
I  would  not  hai-m  him  for  a  world,  or 

interrupt  his  lay. 
Sing  on,  sing  on,  blithe  bird  !    and  fill 

my  heart  with  summer  gladness  ; 
It  has  been  aching  many  a  day  with 

measures  full  of  sadness  ! 

WiUiam  Motherwell. 


THE  BIRD. 

A  Nursery  Song. 

"  BiRDFE,  Birdie,  will  you  pet  ? 
Sununer-time  is  far  away  yet. 
You'll  have  silken  quilts  and  a  velvet 

bed. 
And  a  pillow  of  satin  for  your  head  !  " 

"I'd  rather  sleep  in  the  ivy  wall ; 
No  rain  comes  through,  tho'  I  hear  it 

fall; 
The  sun  peeps  gay  at  dawn  of  day. 
And  I  sing,  and  wing  away,  away !  " 

"  Oh,  Birdie,  Birdie,  will  you  pet  ? 
Diamond-stones  and  amber  and  jet 
We'll  string  for  a  necklace  fair  and  fine. 
To  please  this  pretty  bird  of  mine!" 

"  O  thanks  for  diamonds,  and  thanks 

for  jet, 
But  here  is  something  daintier  yet — 
A  feather-necklace  round  and  round. 
That  I  wouldn't  sell  for  a  thousand 

pound  1 " 

"  Oh,  Birdie,  Birdie,  won't  you  pet  7 
We'll  buy  you  a  dish  of  silver  fret, 
A  golden  cup  and  an  ivory  seat. 
And  carpets  soft  beneath  your  feet." 


222 


Poems   for  Children. 


"  Can  rnnning  water  be  drunk  from 

gold  ? 
Can  a  silver  dish  the  forest  hold  ? 
A  rocking  twig  is  the  finest  chair. 
And  the  softest  paths  lie  through  the 

air^ 
(j!ood-bye,  good-bye  to  my  lady  fair  !  " 

William  Allinoham. 


Or  haply,  as  the  branches  wave. 
The  little  round  of  tender  bills 

Is  raised,  the  due  repast  to  crave 
Of  her  who  all  their  memory  lills. 

John  Keble. 


THE   CAGED  BIBD. 

Oh  !     M'ho    would    keep    a    little    bird 

confined 
When  cowshp-bells  and  nodding  in  the 

wind. 
When    every    hedge    as    with    "  gooil- 

morrow  "  rings, 
And,  heard   from  wood    to  wood,   the 

blackbird  sings  ? 
Oh  !     who    would    keep    a    little    bird 

confined 
In  his  cold  wiry  prison  ? — Let  him  fly. 
And   hear   him   sing,    "  How  sweet  is 

liberty  !  " 

William  Lisle  Bowles. 


THE     liARK     AND     THE 

NIGHTINGALE. 

'Tis  sweet  to  hear  the  merry  lark. 

That  bidrf  a  blithe  good-morrow  ; 
But  sweeter  to  hark,  in  the  twinkling 
dark. 

To  the  soothing  song  of  son-ow. 
O  Xi'^^itingale  !    what  doth  she  ail  ? 

And  is  she  sad  or  jolly  ? 
For  ne'er  on  earth  was  sound  of  mirth 

So  hke  to  melancholy. 

The  merry  lark,  he  soars  on  high, 

Xo  worldly  thought  o'ertakes  him  ; 
He  sings  aloud  to  the  clear  blue  sky. 

And  the  daylight  that  awakes  him. 
As  sweet  a  lay,  as  loud,  as  gay. 

The  nightingale  is  trilling  ; 
With  feeling  bliss,  no  less  than  his. 

Her  little  heart  is  thrillinsr. 


THE   BIBD'S  NEST. 

Behold  the  treasure  of  the  nest. 
The     winged     mother's     hope     and 
pride  : 
See  how  they  court  her  downy  breast. 
How    soft    they    slumber,    side    by 
side. 

Strong  is  the  life  that  nestles  there. 
But  into  motion  and  deUght 

It  may  not  burst,  till  soft  as  air 

It  feel  Love's  brooding,  timely  might. 

Now  steal  once  more  across  the  lawn. 
Stoop    gently   through    the    Cyprus 
bough. 
And    mark    which    way    life's    feelilo 
dawn 
Works    in    their    little    hearts,    and 
how 

Still  closer  and  closer,  as  you  pry, 
They    nestle  'neath    their    motlur's 
plume. 

Or  with  a  faint  forlorn  half-cry. 
Shivering  bewail  her  empty  room. 


Yet  ever  and  anon,  a  sigh 

Peers  through  her  lavish  mirtli  ; 
For  the  lark's  bold  song  is  of  the  sky, 

And  her's  is  of  the  earth. 
By  day  and  night  she  tunes  her  lay, 

To  drive  away  all  sorrow  ; 
For  bliss,  alas  !    to-night  must  pass. 

And  woe  may  come  to-morrow. 

Hartley  Colcridye. 


THE   SKYLABK. 

Bird  of  the  wilderness, 
15111  hcr^ome  and  cumberless, 

Sweet  ho  thy  matin  o'er  moorland  and 
lea! 
Emblem  of  happiness. 
Blest  is  thy  dwelling-place — 

Oh  to  abide  in  the  desert  with  thee  ! 

Wild  is  thy  lay  and  loud. 
Far  in  the  downy  cloud 
Love    gives    it   energy,    love    gave    it 
birth 


Insects,   Birds,   and   Beasts. 


22o 


Where,  on  thy  dewy  wing. 
Where  art  tliou  journej'ing  ? 
Thy  lay  is  in  heaven,  thy  love  is  on 
earth. 

O'er  fell  and  fountain  sheen, 

O'er  moor  and  mountain  green. 
O'er  the  red  streamer  that  heralds  the 
day, 

Over  the  cloudlet  dim, 

Over  the  rainbow's  rim, 
Musical  cherub,  roar,  singing,  away  ! 

Then,  when  the  gloaming  comes. 
Low  in  the  heather  blooms 

Sweet   will   thy   welcome   and    bed   of 
love  be ! 
Emblem  of  happiness, 
Blest  is  thy  dwelling-place — 

Oh  to  abide  in  the  desert  with  thee  ! 

James  Hogg. 


TO   A  SKYLARK. 

Hail  to  thee,  bhthe  spirit ! 

Bird  thou  never  wert. 
That  from  heaven,  or  near  it, 
Pourest  thy  full  heart 
In  profuse  strains  of  unpremeditated 
art. 

Higher  still  and  higher 

From  the  earth  thou  springest 
Like  a  cloud  of  fire  ; 

The  blue  deep  thou  wingest 
And  singing  still  dost  soar,  and  soaring 
ever  singest. 

In  the  golden  lightning 

Of  the  sunken  sun. 
O'er  which  clouds  are  l)ri.:^htening. 
Thou  dost  float  and  run  ; 
Like   an   unbodied  joy   whose   race  is 
just  begun. 

Tile  pale  purple  even 

-Melts  around  thy  flight : 
Li  ke  a  star  of  heaven. 
In  the  broad  dayhght 
Thou  art  imseen,   but  yet  I  hear  thy 
shrill  dehght. 

Keen  as  are  the  arrows 
Of  that  silver  sphere 


Whose  intense  lamp  narrows 
In  the  white  dawn  clear. 
Until  we  hardly  see,  we  feel  that  it  is 
there. 

All  the  earth  and  air 

With  thy  voice  is  loud. 
As,  when  night  is  bare. 
From  one  lonely  cloud 
The  moons  rains  out  her  beams,  and 
heaven  is  overflowed. 

What  thou  art  we  know  not ; 

What  is  most  Uke  thee  ? 
From  rainbow  clouds  there  flow  not 
Drops  so  bright  to  see. 
As  from  thy  presence  showers  a  rain  ot 
melody. 

Like  a  poet  hidden 

In  the  hght  of  thought. 
Singing  hymns  unbidden. 
Till  the  world  is  wrought 
To  sympathy  with  hopes  and  fears  it 
heeded  not : 

Like  a  high-born  maiden 

In  a  palace  tower. 
Soothing  her  love-laden 
Soul  in  secret  hour 
With  music  sweet  as  love,  which  over- 
flows her  bower : 

Like  a  glow-worm  golden 

In  a  dell  of  dew. 
Scattering  unbeholden 
Its  at^rial  hue 
Among  the  flowers   and  grass,   which 
screen  it  from  the  view  : 

Like  a  rose  embowered 

In  its  own  green  leaves. 
By  warm  winds  deflowered. 
Till  the  scent  it  gives 
Makes  faint  with  too  much  sweet  these 
heavy-winged  thieves  : 

Sound  of  vernal  showei's 

On  the  twinkling  grass. 
Rain -awakened  flowers. 
All  that  ever  was 
Joyous  and  clear,  and  fresh,  thy  music 
iloth  surpass : 

Teach  us,  sprite  or  bird. 

What  sweet  thoughts  are  thine  • 
I  have  never  beard 


224 


Poems  for  Children. 


Praise  of  love  or  wine 
Tliat  panted  forth  a  flood  of  rapture 
so  divine. 
Chorus  Hymeneal, 

Or  triumphal  chaunt. 
Matched  with  thine  would  be  all 
But  an  empty  vaunt, 
A  thing  wherein  we  feel  there  is  some 
hidden  want. 

What  objects  are  the  fountains 

Of  thy  happy  strain  ? 
What  fields,  or  waves,  or  mountains  ? 
What  shapes  of  sky  or  plain  ? 
What  love  of  thine  own  kind  ?    what 
ignorance  of  pain  ? 

With  thy  clear  keen  joyance 

Languor  cannot  be : 
Shadow  of  annoyance 
Never  came  near  thee  : 
rhou  lovest :     but  ne'er  knew  love's 
sad  satiety. 

Waking  or  asleep. 

Thou  of  death  must  deem 
Things  more  true  and  deep 
Than  we  mortals  dream. 
Or  how  could  thy  notes  flow  in  such 
a  crystal  stream  ? 

We  look  before  and  after 

And  pine  for  what  is  not : 
Our  sincerest  laughter 

With  some  pain  is  fraught ; 
Our  sweetest  songs  are  those  that  tell 
of  saddest  thought. 

Yet  if  we  could  scorn 

Hate,  and  pride,  and  fear ; 
If  we  were  things  born 
Not  to  shed  a  tear, 
I  know  not  how  thy  joy  we  ever  should 
come  near. 

Better  than  all  measures 

Of  delightful  sound, 
Better  than  all  treasures 
That  in  books  are  found. 
Thy  skill  to  poet  were,  thou  scomer 
of  the  ground  ! 

Teach  me  half  the  gladness 

That  my  brain  must  know. 
Such  harmonious  madness 


From  my  lips  would  flow. 
The  world  sliould  listen,  then  as  I  am 
listening  now 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley 


THE  BLACKBIRD. 

O    Blackbird  !     sing    me    something 
well : 
While  all  the  neighbours  shoot  thee 

round, 
I     keep    smooth     plats    of    fruitful 
ground. 
Where   thou   may'st  warble,  eat,  and 
dwell. 

The  espaliers  and  the  standards  all 
Are  thine  ;    the  range  of  lawn  and 

park. 
The     unnetted     black-hearts    ripen 
dark. 
All  thine,  against  the  garden  wall. 

Yet,  tho'  I  spared  ye  all  the  spring. 
Thy  sole  delight  is,  sitting  still. 
With  that  gold  dagger  of  thy  bill 

To  fret  the  summer  jenneting. 

A  golden  bill  !    the  silver  tongue. 
Cold  February  loved,  is  dry  : 
Plenty  corrupts  the  melody 

That   made   thee   famous   once,   when 
young. 

And  in  the  sultry  garden-squares. 
Now  thy  flute-notes  are  changed  to 

coarse, 
I  hear  thee  not  at  all,  or  hoarse 

As  when  a  hawker  hawks  his  wares. 

Take  warning  !   he  that  will  not  sing 
While  yon  sun  prospers  in  the  blue, 
Shall  sing  for  want,   ere  leaves  are 
new. 

Caught  in  the  frozen  palms  of  Spring. 

Lord  Tennyson. 


MY  DOVES. 

My  little  doves  have  left  a  nest 

Upon  an  Indian  tree. 
Whose  leaves  fantastic  take  their  rest 


Insects,  Birds,  and   Beasts. 


226 


Or  motion  from  the  sea  ; 
For,  ever  there  the  sca-M-inds  go 
With  siinHt  paces  to  and  fro. 

The  tropic  flowers  looked  up  to  it. 
The  tropic  stars  looked  down. 

And  there  my  little  doves  did  sit 
With  feathers  softly  brown. 

And  glittering  eyes  that  showed  their 
right 

To  general  Nature's  deep  delight. 

yiy  little  doves  were  ta'en  away 
From  that  glad  nest  of  theirs. 

Across  an  ocean  rolling  grey. 
And  tempest-clouded  airs. 

.My  little  doves  who  lately  knew 

The   sky   and    wave    by    warmth    and 
blue. 

And  now,  within  the  city  prison 

In  mist  and  chillness  pent, 
With  sudden  upward  look  they  listen 

For  sounds  of  ))ast  content. 
For  lapse  of  water,  smell  of  breeze, 
Ur  nut-fruit  falling  from  the  trees. 

Elizabeth  Banelt  Browning. 


"I  HAD  A  DOVE." 

I   HAD    a   dove,    and    the   sweet   dovo 

died  ; 
And    I    have    thought    it    died    of 

grieving  ; 
0,  what  could  it  grieve  for  ?     Its  feet 

were  tied 
With   a  ribbon    thread   of   my   own 

hand's  weaving. 
Sweet  httle  red  feet !    why  should  you 

die  ? 
Why  would  you  leave  me,  sweet  bird  ! 

why? 
You  lived  alone  in  the  forest  tree  : 
Why,   pretty   thing !     would   you   not 

live  with  me  ? 
I  kissed  you  oft  and  gave  you  white 

peas  ; 
Why  not  Uve  sweetly,  as  in  the  green 
trees  ? 

John  Keats. 


THE  DEAD  SPARKOW. 
Tell  me  not  of  joy  !    there's  none 
Now  my  little  sparrow's  gone  : 


He  just  as  you. 
Would  sigh  and  woo. 
He  would  chirp  and  Hatter  me  ; 
He  would  hang  the  wing  awhile — 
Till  at  length  he  saw  me  smile : 
Oh  !   how  sullen  he  would  be  I 

He  would  catch  a  crumb,  and  then 
Sporting,  let  it  go  again  ; 
He  from  my  hp 
Would  moisture  sip  ; 
He  would  fiom  my  trencher  feed  ; 
Then  would  hop,  and  then  would  run, 
And  cry  "  phillip  "  when  he'd  done  ! 
Oh  !     whose   heart   can   choose    but 
bleed  ? 

Oh  !    how  eager  would  he  fight, 
And  ne'er  hurt,  though  he  did  bite  ! 
No  morn  did  pass. 
But  on  my  glass 
He  would  sit,  and  mark  and  do 
What  I  did  ;   now  ruffle  all 
His  feathers  o'er,  now  let  them  fall : 
And  then  straightway  sleek  them  too. 

Where  will  Cupid  get  his  darts 
Feathered  now,  to  pierce  our  hearts 
Now  this  faithful  bird  is  gone  ; 
Oh  !    let  mournful  turtles  join 
With  loving  red- breasts,  and  com- 
bine 
To  sing  dirges  o'er  his  stone  ! 

William  CartmrigJU. 


SPARROWS,    SELF- 
DOMESTICATED.  * 

IN    TRINITY    COLLEGE,    CAMBRIDGE. 

XoNE  ever  shared  the  social  feast, 
Or  as  an  inmate  or  a  guest. 
Beneath  the  celebrated  dome, 
Where  once  Sir  Isaac  had  his  home, 
W'ho  saw  not  (and  with  some  delight 
Perhaps  he  viewed  the  novel  sight) 
How  numerous,  at  the  tables  there. 
The  sparrows  beg  their  daily  fare. 
For  there,  in  every  nook  and  cell. 
Where  such  a  family  may  dwell, 
Sure  as  the  vernal  season  comes 
Their   nest   they    weave   in    hope    of 

crumbs. 
Which,  kindly  given,  may  serve  with 

food 
Convenient  their  unfeathered  brood  ! 

*  from  tlie  Latin  ol  Yiucent  Bo  anie 

*5 


226 


Poems  for  Children. 


And  oft,  as  with  its  summons  clear 
The  warning  bell  salutes  their  ear, 
Sagacious  listeners  to  the  sound. 
They  flock  from  all  the  fields  around. 
To  reach  the  hospitable  hall. 
None  more  attentive  to  the  call. 
Arrived,  the  pensionary  band, 
Hopping  and  chirping  close  at  hand 
Solicit  what  they  soon  receive, 
The  sprinkled,  plenteous  donative. 
Thus  is  a  multitude,  though  large. 
Supported  at  a  trivial  charge  ; 
A  single  doit  would  overpay 
The  expenditure  of  every  day. 
And  who  can  grudge  so  small  a  grace 
To  suppliants,  natives  of  the  place  ? 

William  Cowper. 


TO   A  HEDGE-SPABROW. 

Little  flutt'rer  !    swifter  flying. 
Here  is  none  to  harm  thee  near  ; 

Kite,  nor  hawk,  nor  school-boy  prying  ; 
Little  flutt'rer  !    cease  to  fear. 

One  who  would  protect  thee  ever, 
From  the  school-boy,  kite  and  hawk. 

Musing,  now  obtrudes,  but  never 
Dreamt  of  plunder  in  his  walk. 

He  no  weasel,  steahng  slyly, 

Woidd  permit  thy  eggs  to  take  ; 

Nor  the  polecat,  nor  the  wily 
Adder,  nor  the  writhed  snake. 

May  no  cuckoos,  wandering  near  thee. 
Lay  her  egg  within  thy  nest ; 

Nor  thy  young  ones,  born  to  cheer  thee. 
Be  destroyed  by   such  a  guest ! 

Little  flutt'rer  !    swiftly  flying. 
Here  is  none  to  harm  thee  near  ; 

Kite,  nor  hawk,  nor  school- boy  prying  ; 
Little  flutt'rer  !    cease  to  fear. 


THE  N-IQHTINGALE. 

As  it  fell  upon  a  day 
In  the  merry  month  of  May, 
Sitting  in  a  pleasant  shade 
Which  a  grove  of  myrtles  made, 


Beasts  did  leap  and  birds  did  sing, 

Trees  did  grow  and  plants  did   spring, 

Everything  did  banish  moan, 

Save  the  Nightingale  alone. 

She,  poor  bird,  as  all  forlorn, 

Lean'd  her  breast  against  a  thorn. 

And  there  sung  the  dolefullest  ditty 

That  to  hear  it  was  great  pity. 

Fie,  fie,  fie,  now  would  she  cry  ; 

Tereu,  Tereu,  by  and  b}' : 

That  to  hear  her  so  complain 

Scarce  I  could  from  tears  refrain  ; 

For  her  griefs  so  lively  shewn 

Made  me  think  upon  mine  own. 

— Ah,    thought    I,    thou    mourn'st    in 

vain. 
None  takes  pity  on  thy  pain  : 
Senseless  trees,  they  cannot  hear  thee  ; 
Ruthless   beasts,   they   will    not   cheer 

thee  ; 
King  Pandion,  he  is  dead. 
All  thy  friends  are  lapp'd  in  lead. 
All  thy  fellow  birds  do  sing 
Careless  of  th}'  sorrowing. 
Even  so,  poor  bird,  hke  thee 
None  alive  will  pity  me. 

Bichard  Bdnijivhl. 


ODE  TO  THE  CTTCKOO. 

Hail,  beauteous  stranger  of  the  grove  ! 

Thou  messenger  of  spring  ! 
Now  Heaven  repairs  thy  rural  seat. 

And  woods  thy  welcome  sing. 

What  time  the  daisy  decks  the  green. 
Thy  certain  voice  we  hear  ; 

Hast  thou  a  star  to  guide  thy  path. 
Or  mark  the  rolhng  3'ear  ? 

Delightful  visitant,  with  thee 

I  hail  the  time  of  flowers, 
And  hear  the  soimd  of  music  sweet 

From  birds  among  the  bowers. 

The  school-boy  wandering  through  the 
wood 

To  pull  the  primrose  gay. 
Starts  the  new  voice  of  spring  to  hear, 

And  imitates  the  lay. 

What  time  the  pea  puts  on  the  bloom 

Thou  flicst  tiiy  vocal  vale 
An  annual  guest  in  other  laiuls, 

Another  spring  to  hail. 


Insects,   Birds,  and   Beasts. 


227 


Sweet  bird,  thy  bower  is  ever  green, 

Thy  sky  is  ever  clear  ; 
Tliou  hast  no  sorrow  in  thy  song. 

No  winter  in  thy  year  ! 

O  ootikl  I  fly,  I'd  fly  with  tliee  ! 

VV'e'il  make  with  joyous  wing, 
Onr  annual  visit  o'er  the  globe. 

Companions  of  the  spring 

Michael  Bruce. 


TO  THE   CUCKOO. 

O  BLITHE  new-comer  !    I  liave  heard, 

I  hear  thee  and  rejoice. 
O  Cuckoo  !    shall  I  call  thee  Bird, 

f)r  but  a  wandering  Voice  ? 

While  I  am  lying  on  the  grass 

Thy  twofold  shout  I  hear  ; 
From  hill  to  hill  it  seems  to  pass. 

At  once  far  oft'  and  near. 

'{'hough  babbling  only,  to  the  vale, 
Of  sunshine  and  of  flowers. 

Thou  bringest  unto  me  a  tale 
Of  visionary  hours. 

Thrice  ■welcome,  darling  of  the  Spring  ! 

Even  yet  thou  art  to  me 
No  Bird,  but  an  invisible  Thing, 

A  voice,  a  mystery. 

The  same  whom  iii  my  Schoolboy  days 

I  listened  to  ;    that  cry 
Whic-h  made  me  look  a  thousand  ways. 

In  bush,  and  tree,  and  sky. 

To  seek  thee  did  I  often  rove 

'i'iirough  woods  and  on  the  green. 

And  thou  wert  still  a  hope,  a  love, 
Still  longed  for,  never  seen. 

And  I  can  hsten  to  thee  yet ; 

Can  lie  upon  the  plain 
And  listen  till  I  do  beget 

'J'hat  golden  time  again. 

O  blessed  Bird  ;    the  earth  we  pace 

Again  appears  to  be 
An   unsubstantial,    faery   place. 

That  is  fit  home  for  Thct^  ! 

William    Wurdsuorth. 


THE    BIRDS   OF   TASSAGE. 

Birds,  joyous  binls  of  the   wandering 

•    wing  ! 

Whence  is  it  ye  come  with  the  flowers 

of  spring  ? 
— "  \\q   come  from  the  shores  of   the 

grecni  old  Nile, 
From    the    land    where    the    roses    of 

Sliaron  smile. 
From    the    palms  that  wave    throu'ih 

the  Indian  sky, 
From     the     myrrh-trees     of     glowing 

Araby. 

"  We   have   swept   o'er   cities   in   song 

renowned, 
Silent  they  lie  witli  the  desert  round  ! 
We    have    crossed     tlie    proud    rivers 

whose  tide  hath  rolled 
All  (lark  with  the  warrior-blood  of  old  ; 
And    each    woi-n    wing    hath    regained 

its  home 
Under    peasant's    roof    or    monarch's 

dome." 


And  what  have  ye  found  in  the  mon- 
arch's dome. 

Since  last  ye  traversed  the  blue  sea's 
foam  ? 

— "  We  have  found  a  change  ; — we  have 
found  a  pall, 

And  a  gloom  o'ershadowing  the  ban- 
quet hall  ; 

And  a  mark  on  the  floor  as  of  life- 
drops  si)iit  ; — 

Nought  looks  the  same  save  tiie  nest 
w^e   built." 

Oh  !    joyous  birds,   it  hath   ever  been 

so  ; 
T'hiough   the    halls   of   kings   doth    th.e 

tempest  go, 
But  the  huts  of  hamlets  lie  still   and 

deep, 
And  the  hills  o'er  th.cir  quiet,  a  vigil 

keep  : — 
Say,    wha-t    have    ye    found    in      the 

peasant's  cot 
Since  last  ye  parted   from  that  sweet 

spot  ? 

"  .A  change  we  have  found  then-,  and 

many  a  change, 
Faces    and    footstejis,    and    all    things 

strange  ; 

15* 


228 


Poems  for  Children. 


Gone  are  the  heads  of  the  silvery  hair. 
And  the  young  that  Avere  have  a  brow 

of   care  ; 
And    the   place   is   hushed    where    the' 

children  played  ; 
N'ought  looks  the  same  save  the  nest  we 

made." 

Sad    is    your    tale    of    the    beautiful 
earth. 

Birds  that  o'ersweep  it  in  po\\'er  and 
mirth  ; 

Yet  through  the  wastes  of  the  track- 
less air 

Ye  have  a  guide,  and  shall  ive  despair  ? 

Ye  over  desert  and  deep  have  passed. 

So    may    we   reach    our    bright    home 
at  last. 

Felicia  Dorothea  Hetnans. 


THE  FIRST   SWAIiliOW. 

The  gorse  is  yellow  on  the  lieath  ; 

The   banks    with   speed-well   flowers 
are  gay ; 
The  oaks  are  budding,  and  beneath, 
The  hawthorn  soon  will  bear  the  wreath. 

The  silver  wreath  of  May. 

The  welcome  guest  of  settled  spring. 

The  swallow,  too,  is  come  at  last ; 
Just  at  svinset,  when  thrushes  sing, 
I  saw  her  dash  with  rapid  wing, 
And  hailed  her  as  she  passed. 

Come,  summer  visitant,  attach 
To  mj'  reed  roof  your  nest  of  clay. 

And  let  my  ear  your  music  catch, 
I^ow     twittering     underneath     the 

thatch. 
At  the  grey  dawn  of  day. 

Charlotte  Smith. 


THE    SWALIiOW. 

Swallow  !   that  on  rapid  wing 
Swecp'st  along  in  sportive  ring, 
Now  here,  now  there,  now  low,  now 

high. 
Chasing  keen  the  painted  fly  : — 
Could  r  skim  away  with  thee 
Over  land  and  over  sea. 


What  streams  would  flow,  what  cities 

rise  ! 
What   landscapes   dance   before    mine 

eyes  ! 
First  from  England's  southern  shore 
'Cross  the  channel  we  would  soar. 
And  our  venturous  course  advance 
To  the  plains  of  sprightly  France ; 
Sport  among  the  feathered  choir 
On  the  verdant  banks  of  Loire  ; 
Skim  Garonne's  majestic  tide. 
Where  Bordeaux  adorns  his  ride; 
Cross  the  towering  Pjnrenees, 
'IVIid  myi'tle  grove  and  orange  trees  ; 
Enter  then  the  wild  domain 
Where  wolves  prowl  round  the  flocks 

of  Spain, 
Where  silkworms  spin,  and  olives  grow. 
And  mules  plod  surely  on  and  slow. 
Steering  thus  for  many  a  day 
Far  to  south  our  course  away. 
From  Gibraltar's  rocky  steep. 
Dashing  o'er  the  foaming  deep. 
On  sultry  Afric's  fruitful  shore 
We'd  rest  at  length,  our  journey  o'er, 
Till  vernal  gales  should  gently  play. 
To  waft  us  on  our  homeward  way. 

I/acy  Aikin. 


THE  S"WALIiOW  AND  RED- 
BREAST. 

The  swallows,  at  the  close  of  day. 
When  autumn  shone  wath  fainter  i-a}% 
Around  the  chimney  circling  flew, 
Ei'c  yet  they  bade  a  long  adieu 
Tu  climes,  where  soon  the  winter  drear 
Sliould  close  an  uurejoicmg  year. 
NoW'  with  swift  wing  they  skim  aloof, 
Now  settle  on  the  crowded  roof, 
As  counsel  and  advice  to  take, 
Ere  they  the  chilly  north  forsake  ; — 
Then  one,  disdainful,  turned  his  eye 
Upon  a  red-breast  twittering  nigh. 
And  thus  began  with  taimting  scorn  : — 
"  Thou  household  imp,  obscure,  forlorn. 
Through  the  deep  winter's  dreary  day. 
Here,   dull  and  shivering,   shalt  thou 

stay. 
Whilst  we,  who  make  the  world  our 

home. 
To  softer  climes  impatient  roam. 
Where  summer  still  on  some  green  isle 
Rests,  with  her  sweet  and  lovely  smile. 


Insects,  Birds,  and  Beasts. 


229 


Thus,  speeding  far  and  far  away, 
We  leave  behind  the  shortening  day." 

"  'Tis  true,"  the  red-breast  answered 

meek, 
"  No  other  scenes  I  ask,  or  seek  ; 
To  every  cliange  alike  resigned, 
I  fear  not  the  cold  winter's  wind. 
When  spring  returns,  the  circling  year 
Shall  find  me  still  contented  here  ; 
But  whilst  my  warm  affections  rest 
W'ithin  the  circle  of  my  nest, 
I  learn  to  pity  those  that  roam, 
And  love  the  more  my  humble  liome." 

Williatit,  Lisle  Buwles. 


He  is  the  friend  of  our  summer  glad- 
ness ; 
What  hinders  then  that  ye  should  be 
Playmates  in  the  sunny  weather. 
And  fly  about  in  the  air  together  ? 
His  beautiful  wings  in  crimson  are  drest, 

A  crimson  as  bright  as  thine  own  : 
If  thou  wouldst  be  happy  in  thy  nest, 
O  pious  bird  !    whom  man  loves  best. 

Love  him,  or  leave  him  alone  ! 

William  Wordsworth. 


AN  EPITAPH  ON"  A  ROBIN- 
REDBREAST 

Tpead  lightly  here,  for  here,  'tis  said. 
When  piping  winds  are  hush'd  around, 
A  small  note  wakes  from  underground. 
Where  now  his  tiny  bones  are  laid. 
Nor  more  in  lone  or  leafless  groves. 
With  ruffled  wing  and  faded  breast. 
His  friendless,  homeless  spirit  roves  ; 
Gone   to   the   world    where   birds   are 

blest ! 
Where  never  cat  glides  o'er  the  green. 
Or  school-boy's  giant  form  is  seen  ; 
But  love,  and  joy,  and  smiling  Spring 
Inspire  their  little  souls  to  sing  ! 

Samuel  Ilogera. 


THE  REDBREAST  CHASINQ  A 
BUTTERFLY. 

Can  this  be  the  bird  to  man  so  good, 
That,  after  their  bewildering. 
Covered  w  ith  leaves  the  little  children 

So  painfully  in  the  wood  ? 

What   ailed    thee,    Robin,    that    thou 
couldst  pui-sue 

A  beautiful  creature 

That  is  gentle  by  nature  ? 

Beneath  the  summer  sky. 

From  flower  to  flower  let  him  fly ; 
'Tis  all  that  he  wishes  to  do. 

The  chcerer  thou  of  our  in-door  sadness. 


THE    HORNED    OWL. 

In  the  hollow    tree  in    the    old  grey 
tower. 
The  spectral  owl  doth  dwell ; 
Dull,  hated,  despised  in  the  sunshine 
hour  ; 
But  at  dusk  he's  abroad  and  well : 
Not  a  bird   of  the   forest  e'er  mates 
with  him  ; 
All  mock  him  outright  by  day ; 
But  at  night, when  the  woods  grow  still 
and  dim. 
The  boldest  will  shrink  away. 

O,  when  the  night  falls,  and  roosts 

the  fowl. 
Then,    then   is   the   reign   of   the 
horned  owl  ! 

And  the  owl  hath  a  bride  who  is  fond 
and  bold. 
And  loveth  the  wood's  deep  gloom  ; 
And  with  eyes  like  the  shine  of  the 
moonshine  cold 
She  awaiteth  her  ghastly  groom  ! 
Not  a  feather  she  moves,  not  a  carol 
she  sings. 
As  she  waits  in  her  tree  so  still  : 
But  when  her  heart  heareth  his  flapping 
wings, 
She  hoots  out  her  welcome  shrill  ! 
O,  when  the  moon  shines,  and  dogs 

do  howl. 
Then,  then  is  the  joy  of  the  horned 
owl. 

Mourn  not  for  the  owl  nor  his  gloomy 
plight ! 
The  owl  hath  his  share  of  good  : 
If  a  prisoner  he  be  in  the  broad  day- 
light. 
He  is  lord  in  the  dark  green  wood  J 


230 


Poems  for  Children. 


Nor  lonely   the  bird,   nor  his  ghastly 

mate  ; 
They  are  each  unto  each  a  pride — - 
riirice  fonder,  perhaps,  since  a  strange 

dark  fate 
Hath  rent  them  from  all  beside  ! 
So  when  the  night  falls,  and  dogs  do 

howl. 
Sing  ho  !    for  the  reign  of  the  horned 

owl ! 
We  know  not  alway  who  are  kings  by 

day, 
But  the  king  of  the  night  is  the  ))old 

brown  owl. 

Barry  Cornwall. 


One  have  I  mark'd,  the  happiest  guest 
In  all  this  corner  of  the  blest. 
Hail  to  thee,  far  above  the  rest 

In  joy  of  voice  and  pinion, 
Thovi  Linnet !  in  thy  green  array. 
Presiding  spirit  here  to  day. 
Dost  lead  the  revels  of  the  May, 

And  this  ia  thy  dominion. 

Wliile  thus  before  my  eyes  he  gleams, 
A  brother  of  the  leaves  he  seems, 
When  in  a  moment  forth  he  teems. 

His  little  song  in  gushes  : 
As  if  it  pleas'd  him  to  disdain 
And  mock  the  form  which  he  did  feign. 
While  he  was  dancing  with  the  train 

Of  leaves  among  the  bushes. 

William  Wordsworth. 


THE   OWL. 

When    cats    run    home    and   light  is 
come. 
And  dew  is  cold  upon  the  ground. 
And  the  far-off  stream  is  dumb. 
And  the  whirring  sail  goes  round. 
And  the  whirring  sail  goes  round  ; 
Alone  and  warming  his  five  wits. 
The  white  owl  in  the  belfrj^  sits. 

Wlien  merry  milkmaids  click  the  latch, 
And  rarely  smells  the  new-mown  hay. 
And  the  cock  hath  sung  beneath  the 
thatch 
Twice  or  thrice  his  roundelay. 
Twice  or  thrice  liis  roundelay  ; 
Alone  and  warming  his  five  wits. 
The  wliite  owl  in  the  belfry  sits. 

Lord  Tennyson. 


THE   GREEN  lilWNET. 


that 


Beneath  these  fruit-tree  boughs, 

shed 
Their  snow-white  blossoms  on  my  liead, 
With    brightest    sunshine    roimd    me 
spread 
Of  Spring's  unclouded  weather  ; 
In  this  sequester'd  nook  how  sweet 
To  sit  upon  my  orchard  seat ! 
And  fiowers  and  birds  once  more  to 
greet, 
My  last  year's  friends  together. 


A  WREN'S   NEST. 

Among  the  dwellings  framed  by  birds 
In  field  or  forest  with  nice  care. 

Is  none  that  \\SX\\  the  little  Wi'en's 
In  snugness  can  compare. 

No  door  the  tenement  requires. 
And  seldom  needs  a  laboured  roof ; 

Yet  is  it  to  the  fiercest  sun 
Imper^aous  and  storm  proof. 

So  warm,  so  beautiful  withal. 
In  perfect  fitness  for  its  aim. 

That  to  the  kind  by  special  grace 
Their  mstinct  surely  came. 

And  when  for  their  abodes  they  seek 

An  opportune  recess. 
The  hermit  has  no  finer  eye 

For  shadowy  quietness. 

These  find,  'raid  ivied  abbey-walls, 
A  canopy  in  some  still  nook  ; 

Others  are  pent- housed  by  a  brae 
That  overhangs   a   brook. 

There  to  the  brooding  bird,  her  mate 
Warbles  by  fits  his  low  clear  song  ; 

And  by  the  busy  streamlet  both 
Are  sung  to  all  day  long. 

Or  in  sequestered  lanes  they  build. 
When,  till  the  flitting  bird's  return. 

Her  eggs  within  the  nest  repose, 
Like  relics  in  an  urn. 


Insects,   Birds,   and   Beasts. 


231 


But  still,  where  general  choice  is  good, 
Tliere  is  a  better  and  a  best ; 

And,  among  fairest  objects,  some 
Are  fairer  than  the  rest. 

This,  one  of  those  small  builders  proved 
In  a  green  covert,  where,  from  out 

The  forcliead  of  a  pollard  oak, 
The  leafy  antlers  sprout. 

For  Slie  who  planned  the  mossy  lodge, 
Mistrusting  her  evasive  skill. 

Had  to  a  Primrose  looked  for  aid 
Her  wishes  to  fulfil. 

Hitrh  on  the  trunks'  projecting  brow. 
And  fixed  an  infant's  span  above 

Tlie  budding  flowers,  peeped  forth  the 
nest, 
'J'iie  prettiest  of  the  grove  | 

Tlie  treasure  proudly  did  I  show 

To  some  whose  minds  without  disdain 

( 'an  turn  to  little  things  ;   but  once 
Looked  up  for  it  in  vain. 

'Tis  gone — a  rutloless  spoiler's  prize. 
Who  needs  not  beauty,  love  or  song, 

'Tis    gone  !     (so    seemed    it)    and    we 
grieved 
Indignant  at  the  wrong. 

Just  three  days  after,  passing  by 
In  cleaner  light  the  moss-built  cell 

I  saw,  espied  its  shady  mouth. 
And  felt  that  all  was  well. 


The  Primrose  for  a  veil  has  spread 
The  largest  of  her  upright  leaves ; 

And  thus  for  purposes  benign, 
A  simple  flower  deceives. 

Concealed    from    friends    who    might 
disturb 

Thy  quiet  with  no  ill  intent. 
Secure  from  evil  eyes  and  hands, 

Or  barbarous  plunder  bent. 

Rest,    Mother-bird  !     and    when    thy 

young 
Take  flight,  and  thou  art  free  to  roam. 
When  withered  is  the  Guardian  Flower, 
And  empty  thy  late  home. 


Think    how    ye    prospered,    thou    and 
thine. 
Amid  the  unviolated  grove 
Housed  near  the  growing  Primrose-tuft 
In  foresight,  or  in  love. 

William    Wordsworth. 


SOIilliOaUY  OF  A  WATER- 
WAGTAIIi. 

"  Hear  your  sovereign's  proclamation, 

All  good  subjects,  young  and  old  ! 

I'm  the  Lord  of  the  Creation, 

I — a  water-wagtail  bold  ! 

All  around,  and  all  you  see. 

All  the  world  was  made  for  me  ! 

"  Yonder  sun,  so  proudly  shining. 
Rises — when  I  leave  my  nest ; 
And,  behind  the  hills  declining. 
Sets — when  I  retire  to  rest, 
^lorn  and  evening,  thus  you  see. 
Day  and  night,  were  made  for  me  ! 

"  Vernal  gales  to  love  invite  me ; 
Summer  sheds  for  me  her  beams  ; 
Autumn's  genial  scenes  delight  me  ; 
Winter  paves  with  ice  my  streams ; 
All  the  year  is  mine  you  see. 
Seasons  change  like  moons  for  jAie  ; 

"  On  the  heads  of  giant  mountains. 

Or  beneath  the  shady  trees  ; 

By  the  banks  of  warbling  fountains 

I  enjoy  myself  at  ease  : 

Hills  and  valleys,  thus  you  see. 

Groves  and  rivei's,  made  for  me  ! 

"  Boundless  are  my  vast  dominions  ; 

I  can  hop,  or  swim,  or  fly  ; 

When  I  please,  my  towering  pinions 

Trace  my  empire  through  the  sky : 

Air  and  elements,  you  see. 

Heaven  and  earth,  were  made  for  jie  ! 

"  Birds  and  insects,  beasts  and  fishes. 
All  their  humble  distance  keep  ; 
Man,  subservient  to  my  wishes. 
Sows  the  harvest  which  I  reap : 
INIighty  man  himself,  you  see. 
All  that  breathe,  were  made  for  me  | 

"  'Twas  for  my  accoramodatioa 
Nature  rose  when  I  was  born  ; 
Should  I  die — the  whole  creation 


232 


Poems  for  Children. 


Back  to  nothing  -would  return  : 
Sun,  moon,  stars,  the  world,  you  see. 
Sprung — exist — will  fall  with  me." 

Here  the  pretty  prattler,  ending. 
Spread  his  wings  to  soar  away ; 
But  a  cruel  hawk,  descending, 
I'oimced  him  up — a  helpless  prey. 
Couldst  thou  not,  poor  wagtail,  see 
That  the  hawk  was  made  for  thee  ? 
James   Montgomery. 


TO   THE   CBOW. 

Say,  weary  bird,  whose  level  flight, 
Thus  at  the  dusky  hour  of  night 

Tends  through  the  midnight  air. 
Why  yet  beyond  the  verge  of  day 
Is  lengthened  out  thy  dark  delay, 

Adding  another  to  the  hours  of  care  ? 

The  wren  within  her  mossy  nest 
Has  hushed  her  little  brood  to  rest ; 

The  wood  wild  pigeon,  rocked  on  high, 
Has  cooed  his  last  soft  noto  of  love, 
And  fondly  nestles  by  his  dove. 

To  guard  their  downy  young  from 
an  inclement  sky. 

Haste  bird,  and  nurse  thy  callow  brood. 
They  call  on  heaven  and  thee  for  food, 

Bleak — on     some     cliff's     neglected 
tree ; 
Haste  weary  bird,  thy  lagging  flight — 
It  is  the  chilling  hour  of  night. 

Fit  hour  of  rest  for  thee. 


To  spicy  groves,  where  he  had  won 
His  plumage  of  resplendent  hue. 

His  native  fruits,  and  skies,  and  suu. 
He  bade  adieu. 

For  these  he  changed  the  smoke  of  turf 
A  heathery  land  and  misty  sky. 

And  turned  on  rocks  and  raging  surf 
His  golden  eye. 

But  petted,  in  our  climate  cold 
He  live  and  chattered  many  a  day ; 
Until  with  age,  from  green  and  gold 
His  wings  grew  grey. 

At  last  when  blind  and  seeming  dumb. 
He  scolded,  laughed,  and  spoke  no 
more, 

A  Spanish  stranger  chanced  to  come 
To  Mulla's  shore. 

He  hailed  the  bird  in  Spanish  speech. 
The  bird  in  Spanish  speech  replied. 

Flapped  round  the  cage  with  joyous 
screech. 
Dropped  down  and  died. 

Thomas  Campbell. 


THE   PARROT    AND    THH 

WREN". 

▲  CONTRAST. 
I. 

Within  her  gilded  cage  confined 

I  saw  a  dazzling  Belle, 
A  parrot  of  that  famous  kind. 

Whose  name  is  Non-Pareil. 


THE  PARROT. 

The  deep  affections  of  the  breast. 
That   Heaven   to  Uving   things   im- 
parts, 

Arc  not  exclusively  possessed 
By  human  hearts. 

A  parrot  from  the  Spanish  main. 
Full  young,  and  early  caged,  came 
o'er 

With  bright  wings,  to  the  bleak  domain 
Of  Mulla's*  shore . 

•  MuUa.—The   island   of   Mull,  one   of   the 
Hebrides. 


Like  beads  of  glossy  jet  her  eyes  j 
And  smoothed  by  Nature's  skill. 

With  pearl  or  gleaming  agate  vies 
Her  finely-curved  bill. 

Her  plumy  mantle's  living  hues 
In  mass  opposed  to  mass. 

Outshine  the  splendour  that  imbues 
The  robes  of  pictured  glass. 

And,  sooth  to  say,  an  after  Mate 
Did  never  tempt  the  choice 

Of  feathered  thing  most  delicate 
In  figure  and  in  voice. 


Insects,   Birds,  and  Beasts. 


233 


But,  exiled  from  Australian  bowers, 

And  singleness  her  lot, 
She  trills  her  song  with  tutored  powers. 

Or  mocks  each  casual  note. 

No  more  of  pity  for  regreta 

With  which  she  may  have  striven  J 
Now  but  in  wantonness  she  frets, 

Or  spite,  if  cause  be  given  ; 

Arch,  volatile,  a  sportive  bird 

By  social  glee  inspired  ; 
Ambitious  to  be  seen  or  heard, 

And  pleased  to  be  admired. 

IL 

This  moss-lined  shed,  green,  soft  and 
dry. 
Harbours  a  self-contented  wren. 
Not  shunning  man's  abode,  tliough  shy. 
Almost  as  thought  itself,  of  human 
ken. 

Strange  places,  coverts  uncndeared. 
She  never  tired  ;    the  very  nest 

In  which  the  Child  of  Spring  was  reared. 
Is    warmed,    thro'    winter    by    her 
feathery  breast. 

To  the  bleak  winds  she  sometimes  gives 
A  slender  unexpected  strain  ; 

Proof  that  the  hermitess  still  lives, 
Though  she  appear  not,  and  be  .sought 
in  vain. 

Say,  Dora  !  tell  me,  by  yon  placid  moon, 
if    called    to    choose    between    the 
favoured  pair, 
Which  would  you  be — the  bird  of  the 
saloon 
By  lady-fingers  tended  with  nice  care, 
Caressed,  applauded,  upon  dainties  fed. 
Or  Nature's  Darkling  of  this  mossy 
shed  i 

William    Wordswort/t^ 


THE    DYING    SWAN. 

The  plain  was  grassy,  wild  and  bare, 
Wide,  wild,  and  open  to  the  aii", 
\V'hich  had  built  up  everywhere 
An  under-roof  of  doleful  gray. 


With  an  inner  voice  the  river  ran, 
Adown  it  floated  a  dying  swan. 

And  loudly  did  lament. 
It  was  the  middle  of  the  day. 
Ever  the  weary  wind  went  on. 

And  took  the  reed-tops  as  it  went. 

Some  blue  peaks  in  the  distance  rose, 
And  white  against  the  cold-white  sky, 
Shone  out  their  crowning  snows. 

One  willow  over  the  river  wept. 
And  shook  the  wave  as  the  wind  did 

sigh; 
Above  in  the  ^vind  was  the  swallow. 
Chasing  itself  at  its  own  wild  will, 
And  far  thro'  the  marish  green  and 
still 
The  tangled  water-courses  slept. 
Shot  over  with  purple,  and  green,  and 
yellow. 

The  wild  swan's  death-hymn  took  the 

soul 
Of  that  waste  place  with  joy 
Hidden  in  sorrow:   at  first  to  the  ear 
The  warble  was  low,  and  full  and  clear  : 
And  floating  about  the  under  sky. 
Prevailing  in  weakness,   the  coronach 

stole 
Sometimes  afar,  and  sometimes  anear. 
But  anon  her  awful  jubilant  voice. 
With  a  music  strange  and  manifold, 
Flow'd  forth  on  a  carol  free  and  bold 
A-!  when  a  mighty  people  rejoice 
Witli  shawms,  and  with  cymbals,  and 

harps  of  gold. 
And   the  tumult  of   their    acclaim    ia 

roU'd 
Thro'  the  open  gates  of  the  city  afar. 
To    the   shepherd    who   watcheth   the 

evening  star. 

And  the  creeping  mosses  and  clamber- 
ing weeds. 

And  the  willow-branches  hoar  and 
dank. 

And  the  wavy  swell  of  the  soughing 
reeds. 

And  the  wave- worn  horns  of  the 
echoing  bank. 

And  the  silvery  marish-flowers  that 
throng 

The  desolate  creeks  and  pools  among. 

Were  flooded  over  with  eddying  song. 

Lord  Tennyson, 


234 


Poems  for  Children. 


THE  THBUSH'S  NEST. 
Within   a  thick  and  spreading  haw- 
thorn bush, 
That  overhung  a  mole-hill  large  and 
round, 
I  heard  from  morn  to  morn  a  merry 
thrush 
Sing  hymns  of  rapture,  while  I  drank 
the  sound 
With   joy ;     and    oft,    an   unintruding 
guest, 
I  watch'd  her  secret  toils  from  day 
to  day, 
How  true  she  warp'd  the  moss  to  form 
her  nest. 
And   modell'd  it  within   with    wool 
and  clay. 
And  bye  and  bye,  like  heath-bolls  gilt 
with  dew, 
There  lay  her  shining  eggs  as  bright 
as  flowers. 
Ink-spotted  over,  shells  of  green  and 
blue  ; 
And  there  I  witness'd,  in  the  summer 
hours, 
A   brood    of   nature's    minstrels    chirp 
and  fly. 
Glad  as  the  sunshine  and  the  laiigh- 
ing  sky. 

John  Clare. 


Where  on  the  mighty  river  banks, 

La  Plate  and  Amazon, 
The  cayman,  like  an  old  tree  trunk. 

Lies  basking  in  the  sun  ; 

Tliere  builds  her  nest  the  Humming- 
bird, 

Witliin  the  ancient  wood — 
Her  nest  of  silky  cotton  do\vn. 

And  rears  her  tiny  brood. 

She  hangs  it  to  a  slender  twig. 
Where  waves  it  light  and  free. 

As  the  campanero  tolls  his  song, 
And  rocks  the  mighty  tree. 

All  crimson  ia  her  shining  breast, 

Like  to  the  red,  red  rose  ; 
Her  wing  is  the  changeful  green  and  blue 

That  the  neck  of  the  peacock  shows. 

Thou,   happy,    happy   Humming-bird, 
No  winter  round  thee  lours  ; 

Thou  never  saw'st  a  leafless  tree. 
Nor  land  without  sweet  flowers. 

A  reign  of  summer  joyfulness 

To  thee  for  life  is  given  ; 
Thy  food,  the  honey  from  the  flower, 

Thy  dritik,  the  dew  from  heaven  ! 

Mary  Howilt. 


THE  HUMMUrG-BIRD. 

The  Humming-bird  !    the   Humming- 
bird ! 

So  fairy-like  and  bright ; 
It  lives  among  the  sunny  flowers, 

A  creature  of  delight ! 

In  the  radiant  islands  of  the  East, 
Where  fragrant  spices  grow, 

A  thousand,  thousand  Humming-birds 
Go  glancing  to  and  fi-o. 

Like  living  fires  they  flit  about. 

Scarce  larger  than  a  bee. 
Among  the  broad  palmetto  leaves. 

And  through  the  fan-palm  tree. 

And  in  those  wild  and  verdant  woods. 
Where  stately  moras  tower. 

Where  hangs  from  branching  tree  to 
tree 
The  scarlet  passion-flower; 


THE    GOIiDFINCH    STABVED 

IN  HIS  CAGE. 

Time  was  when  I  was  free  as  air. 
The  thistle's  downy  seed  my  fare, 

IVIy  drink  the  morning  dew  ; 
I  perched  at  will  on  every  spray. 
My  form  genteel,  my  plumage  gay, 

My  strains  for  ever  new. 

But  gaudy  plumage,  sprightly  strain. 
And  form  genteel,  were  all  in  vain. 

And  of  a  transient  date  ; 
For,  caught,  and  caged,  and  starved  to 

death, 
In  dying  sighs  my  little  breath 

Soon  passed  the  wiry  grate. 

Thanks,  gentle  swain,  for  all  my  woes. 
And  thanks  for  this  eflectual  close 
And  cure  of  every  ill ! 


Insects,   Birds,  and  Beasts. 


235 


Wore  cruelty  could  none  express  ; 
And  I,  if  you  had  shown  me  less. 
Had  been  your  prisoner  still. 

William  Cow  per. 


THE 


CHAFFINCH'S 
SEA. 


NEST    AT 


I.v  Scotland's  realm,  forlorn  and  bare, 
The  history  chanced  of  late — 

The  history  of  a  wedded  pair, 
A  chaffinch  and  his  mate. 

Tiie    spring    drew    near,    each    felt    a 
breast 
With  genial  instinct  filled  ; 
Tlicy  paired,  and  would  have  built  a 
nest. 
But  found  not  where  to  build. 

Tlie  heatlis  uncovered,  and  the  moors, 
Except  with  snow  and  sleet. 

Sea-beaten  rocks  and  naked  shores. 
Could  yield  them  no  retreat. 

Long  time  a  breeding-place  they  sought. 
Till  both  grew  vexed  and  tired  ; 

At  length  a  ship  arriving  brought 
The  good  so  long  desired. 

A  ship  !  could  such  a  restless  thing 
Afford  them  place  of  rest  ? 

Or  was  the  merchant  charged  to  bring 
The  homeless  birds  a  nest  ? 

Husli  ; — silent  readers  profit  most — 

This  racer  of  the  sea 
Proved  kinder  to  tliem  tlian  the  coast, — 

It  served  them  with  a  tree. 

But  such  a  tree  !    'twas  shaven  deal, 

The  tree  they  call  a  mast ; 
And  had  a  hollow  with  a  wiieel. 

Through  which  the  tackle  passed. 

Within  that  cavity,  aloft, 
Their  roofless  home  they  fixed  ; 

Formed  with  materials  neat  and  soft. 
Bents,  wool,  and  featliers  mixed. 

Four  ivory  eggs  sonu  pave  its  floor, 
With  russet  specks  bedight : 

The  vessel  weighs,  forsakes  the  shore, 
And  lessens  to  the  sight. 


Tlie  mother-bird  is  gone  to  sea 
As  she  had  changed  her  kind  ; 

But  goes  the  male  ?     Far  wiser,  he 
Is  iloubtless  left  behind. 

No  : — soon  as  from  ashore  he  saw 
The  winged  mansion  move, 

He  flew  to  reach  it,  by  a  law 
Of  never-failing  love  ; 

Then  percliing  at  his  consort's  side, 
Was  briskly  borne  along  ; 

The  billows  and  the  blasts  defied. 
And  clieered  her  with  a  song. 

The  seaman,  with  sincere  delight. 
His  feathered  shipmate  eyes. 

Scarce  less  exulting  in  the  sight 
Tlian  when  he  tows  a  prize. 

For  seamen  much  believe  in  signs. 
And,  from  a  chance  so  new, 

Eacli  some  approaching  good  divines  ; 
And  may  his  hopes  be  true  I 

WiUiam  Cow  par. 


TO  A  "WATER  FOWIi. 

Whither,  'midst  falling  dew. 
While  glow  the  heavens  with  the  last 

steps  of  day. 
Far    through    their     rosy   depths   dost 
thou  pursue 
Thy  solitary  way  ? 

\'ainly  the  fowler'.'^  eye 
Might   mark   tliy  distant   flight  to  do 

thee  wrong, 
As,  darkly  painted  on  the  crimson  sky. 

Thy  figm-e  floats  along. 

Seek'st  thou  the  plasiiy  brink 
Of  weedy  lake, or  marge  of  river  wide. 
Or  where  the  rocking  billows  rise  and 
suik 

On  the  chafed  ocean  side  ? 

There  is  a  Power  whose  care 
Teaches  thy  way  along  that  pathless 

coast. 
The  desert  and  illimitable  air, — 

Lone  wandering  but  aot  lost. 


236 


Poems  for  Children. 


All   day  thy  \dngs   have   fann'd, 
At  that  far  height  the  cold  thin  atmo- 
sphere. 
Yet  stoop  not,  weary,  to  the  welcome 
land, 
Though  the  dark  night  is  near. 

And  soon  that  toil  shall  end  ; 
Soon  shalt  thou  find  a  summer  home, 

and  rest 
And  scream  among  thy  fellows  ;  reeds 
shall  bend 
Soon  o'er  thy  shelter'd  nest. 

Thou'rt  gone,  the  abyss  of  heaven 
Hath  swallow'd  up  thy  form :    yet  on 

my  heart 
Deeply  hath  sunk  the  lesson  thou  hast 
given, 
And  shall  not  soon  depart. 

He,  who  from  zone  to  zone 
Guides  through  the  boundless  sky  thy 

certain  flight. 
In  the  long  way  that  I  must  tread  alone, 

Will  lead  my  steps  aright. 

William  CuUen  Bryant. 


THE   SEA-MEW. 

How  joyously  the  young  sea-mew 
Lay  dreaming  on  the,waters  blue, 
Whereon  our  little  bark  had  thrown 
A  little  shade,  the  only  one. 
But  shadows  ever  man  pursue. 

Familiar  with  the  waves  and  free 
As  if  their  own  white  foam  were  he, 
His  heart  upon  the  heart  of  ocean 
Lay  learning  all  its  mystic  motion, 
And  throbbing  to  the  tlirobbing  sea. 

We  were  not  cruel,  yet  did  sunder 
His  white  wing  from  the  blue  waves 

under. 
And  bound  it  while  his  fearless  eyes 
Shone  up  to  ours  in  calm  surprise. 
As"  deeming  us  some  ocean  wonder. 

We  bore  our  ocean  bird  unto 
A  grassy  p.lace  where  he  might  view 
The  flowers  that  curtsey  to  the  bees, 
The  wa\nng  of  the  tall  green  trees, 
The  falling  of  the  silver  dew. 


But  flowers  of  earth  were  pale  to  him 
Who  had  seen  the  rainbow  fishes  swim  ; 
And  when  earth's  dew  around  him  lay. 
He  thought  of  ocean's  winged  spray. 
And  his  eye  waxed  sad  and  dim. 

The  green  trees  round  him  only  made 
A  prison  with  their  darksome  shade. 
And  drooped  his  wing,  and  mourned  he 
For  his  own  boundless  glittering  sea — 
Albeit  he  knew  not  they  could  fade. 

He  lay  dovra.  in  his  grief  to  die. 
(First  looldng  to  the  sea-like  sky 
That  hath  no  waves,)  because,  alas  ! 
Our  human  touch  did  on  him  pass. 
And,  with  our  touch,  our  agony. 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. 


THE  STOBMY  PETBEL. 

A  THOUSAND  miles  from  land  are  we. 
Tossing  about  on  the  roaring  sea  ; 
From  billow  to  bounding  billow  cast. 
Like  fleecy  snow  on  the  stormy  blast : 
The    sails    are    scattered    abroad    like 

weeds  ; 
The  strong  masts  shake  like  quivering 

reeds  ; 
The  mighty  cables,  and  iron  chains, 
The    hull,    which  all  earthly  strength 

disdains, 
They  strain  and  they  crack,  and  hearts 

like  stone 
Their  natural  proud  strength  disown. 

Up  and  down  !     Up  and  down  ! 
From   the   base   of   the   wave   to   the 

billow's  crown, 
And  amidst  the  flashing  and  feathery 

foam. 
The  Stormy  Petrel  finds  a  home — 
A  home,  if  such  a  place  may  be, 
For  her  who  lives  on  the  wide,  wide  sea. 
On  the  craggy  ice,  in  the  frozen  air 
And  only  seeketh  her  rocky  lair. 
To  warm  her  young,  and  to  teach  them 

to  spring 
At  once  o'er  the  waves  on  their  stormy 

wingl 

Barry  CorwmU. 


HUMOROUS   VERSE 


THE   JOVIAIi   WELSHMEN". 

There  were  three  jovial  Wclsluiieii, 
As  I  have  heard  them  say. 

And  they  would  go  a-hiinting 
Upon  St   David's  day. 

All  the  day  they  hunted. 
But  nothing  could  they  find  ; 

But  a  ship  a-sailing, 
A-sailing  vvith  the  wind. 

One  said  it  was  a  ship. 

The  other  he  said  nay  ; 
The  third  said  it  was  a  house. 

With  the  chimney  blown  away. 

And  all  the  night  they  hunted. 
And  nothing  could  they  find 

But  the  moon  a-gliding 
A-gliding  with  the  wind. 

One  said  it  was  the  inoou. 

The  other  he  said  nay ; 
The  otlier  said  it  was  a  cheese, 

The  half  o't  cut  away. 

And  all  the  day  they  hunted, 
And  nothing  could  they  find 

But  a  hedgehog  in  a  bramble  bush. 
And  that  they  left  behind. 

The  first  said  it  was  a  hedeo-hog. 

The  second  he  said  nay  : 
The  third  it  was  a  pin-cushion 

And  the  pins  stuck  in  wrong  way. 

And  all  the  night  they  hunted. 
And   nothing  could   thej'  find 

But  a  hare  in  a  turnip- field. 
And  that  they  left  behind. 

The  first  said  it  was  a  hare. 

The  second  he  said  nay  ; 
The  third  said  it  was  a  calf. 

And  the  cow  had  run  away. 


And  all  the  day  they  hunted, 
And  nothing  could  they  find 

But  an  owl  in  a  holly-tree, 
And  that  they  left  behind. 

One  said  it  was  an  owl. 

The  other  he  said  nay  ; 
The  third  said    twas  an  old  man. 

And  his  beard  gi'owing  grey. 


CAPTAIIT  REECE. 

Of  all  the  ships  upon  the  blue. 
No  ship  contained  a  better  crew 
Than  that  of  worthy  Captain  Reecb, 
Commanding  of  The  Mantelpiece. 

He  was  adored  by  all  his  men, 
Foi-  woftiiy  Captain  Reece,  r.n.. 
Did  all  tliat  lay  within  him  to 
Promote  the  comfort  of  his  crew. 

Tf  ever  they  were  dull  or  sad 
Tlieir  captain  danced  to  them  like  mad. 
Or  told  to  make  the  time  pass  by 
Droll  legends  of  his  infancy. 

A  feather  bed  had  every  man, 
^^'arm  slippers  and  hot-water  can. 
Brown  Windsor  from  the  captain's  store, 
A  valet,  too,  to  every  four. 

Did  they  with  thirst  in  summer  burn 
IjO  !  seltzogenes  at  every  turn. 
And  all  on  very  sultry  days 
Cream  ices  handed  round  on  trays. 

Then  currant  wine  and  ginger  pops 
Stood  handily  on  all  the  "  tops  ;  " 
And  also,  with  amusement  rife, 
A  "  Zoetrope,  or  Wheel  of  Life." 


238 


Poems  for  Children. 


New  volumes  came  across  the  sea, 
From  Mister  Mudie's  libiaree  ; 
The  Times  and  Saturday  Review 
Beguiled  the  leisure  of  the  crew. 

Kindhearted  Captain  Reece,  k.n.. 
Was  quite  devoted  to  his  men  ; 
In  point  of  fact,  good  Captain  Reecb 
Beautified  The  Mantelpiece. 

One  summer  eve  at  half-past  ten, 
He  said  (addressing  all  his  men)  : 
"  Come  teU  me,  please,  what  I  can  do 
To  please  and  gratify  my  crew. 

"  By  any  reasonable  plan 
I'll  make  you  happy  if  I  can  ; 
My  own  convenience  count  as  nU  : 
It  is  my  duty  and  I  will." 

Then  up  and  answered  William  Lee, 
The  kindly  captain's  coxswain  he, 
A  nervous,  shy,  close-spoken  man, 
He  cleared  his  thi-oat  and  thus  began  : 

"  You  have  a  daughter,CAPTAiN  Reece, 
Ten  female  cousins  and  a  niece, 
A  ma,  if  what  I'm  told  is  true. 
Six  sisters,  and  an  aunt  or  two. 

"  Now  somehow,  sir,  it  seems  to  me. 
More  friendly  like  we  all  should  be, 
If  you  united  of  'em  to 
Unmarried  members  of  the  crew. 

If  you'd  ameliorate  our  life, 
Let  each  select  from  them  a  wife  ; 
And  as  for  nervous  me,  old  pal. 
Give  me  your  omu  enchanting  gal  !  " 

Good  Captain  REECE.that  wortliy  man. 
Debated  on  his  coxswain's  plan  : 
"  I  quite  agree,"  he  said,    "  Oh  !    Bill  ; 
It  is  my  duty,  and  I  will. 

"  My  daughter,  that  enchanting  gurl. 
Has  just  been  promised  to  an  earl. 
And  all  my  other  familee 
To  peers  of  various  degree. 

"  But  what  are  dukes  and  viscounts  to 
The  happiness  of  all  my  crew  ! 
The  word  I  gave  I'll  fulfil ; 
It  is  my  duty,  and  I  will. 

"  As  you  desire  it  shall  befall, 
'HI  settle  thousands  on  you  all, 


And  I  shall  be  despite  my  hoard, 
The  only  bachelor  on  board." 

The  boatswain  of  The  Mantelpiece, 
He    blushed    and    spoke    to    Captain 

Reece  : 
*'  I  beg  your  honoiu-'s  leave,"  he  said, 
"  If  you  should  wish  to  go  and  wed, 

"  I  have  a  widowed  mother  who 
Would  be  the  very  thing  for  you — 
8he  long  has  loved  you  afar : 
She  washes  for  you,  Caftain  R." 

The  Captain  saw  the  dame  that  day — 
Addressed  her  in  his  playful  way  : 
"  And  did  it  want  a  wedding  ring  ? 
It  was  a  tempting  ickle  sing  ! 

"Well,  well,  the  chaplain  I  will  seek, 
We'll  all  be  married  this  day  week, 
At  yonder  church  upon  the  hill  ; 
It  is  my  duty,  and  I  will  ?  " 

The  sisters,  cousins,  aunts,  and  niece, 
And  widowed  ma  of  Captain  Reece, 
Attended  there  as  they  were  bid  ; 
It  was  their  duty,  and  they  did. 

If.  S.  Gilbert. 


AN  EliEGY  ON  THE  DEATH 
OF  A  MAD  DOG 

Good  people  all,  of  every  sort, 

Give  ear  unto  my  song. 
And  if  you  find  it  wondrous  short, 

It  cannot  hold  you  long. 

In  Islington  there  was  a  man 
Of  whom  the  world  might  say, 

Tliat  still  a  godly  race  he  ran. 
Whene'er  he  went  to  pray. 

A  kind  and  gentle  heart  he  had. 
To  comfort  friends  and  foes ; 

The  naked  every  day  he  clad. 
When  he  put  on  his  clothes. 

And  in  that  town  a  dog  was  found. 

As  many  dogs  tliere  be. 
Both  mongrel,  puppy,  whelp,  and  hound 

And  curs  of  low  degree. 


Humorous  Verse. 


239 


Tin's  dog  and  man  at  first  were  friends, 

But  wlien  a  pique  began. 
The  dog,  to  gain  some  private  ends. 

Went  mad  and  bit  the  man. 

Around    from    all     the     neighbouring 
streets 

The  wondering  neighbours  ran. 
And  swore  the  dog  liad  lost  his  wits, 

To  bite  so  good  a  man. 

The  wound  it  seemed  both  sore  and  sad 

To  every  Cliristian  eye  ; 
And  while  they  swore  the  dog  was  mad. 

They  swore  the  man  would  die. 

But  soon  a  wonder  came  to  light. 
That  show'd  the  rogues  they  lied  ; 

The  man  recovered  of  the  bite 
The  dog  it  was  that  died. 

Oliver  Goldsmilh, 


Presumptuous  Maid  !  with  looks  intent, 
Again  she  stretch'd,  again  she  bent, 

Nor  knew  the  gulf  between 
(Maligant  Fate  sat  by,  and  smil'd). 
The  slipp'ry  verge  her  feet  beguiled. 

She  tumbled  headlong  in. 

Kight  times  emerging  from  the  flood 
Slie  mew'd  to  every  wat'ry  god 

Some  speedy  aid  to  send. 
Xo  Dolpliin  came,  no  Nereid  stirrVl  ; 
Nor  cruel  Tom,  nor  Susan  heard. 

A  fav'rite  has  no  friend  ! 

From  hence,  ye  beauties,  undeceived. 
Know,  one  false  step  is  ne'er  retrieval, 

And  be  with  caution  bold. 
Not  all  that  tempts  your  wand'ring  eyes 
And  heedless  hearts,  is  lawful  prize. 

Nor  all  that  glitters  gold. 

Tliomus   Gray. 


ODE  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A 
FAVOURITE  CAT  DROWNED 
IN  A  TUB  OF  GOLD  FISHES 

'TwAS  on  a  lofty  va.se's  side 

Where  China's  gayest  art  had  dyed 

The  azure  flower."?  that  blow  ; 
Demurest  of  the  tabby  kind. 
The  pensive  Selima,  reclin'd, 

Gaz'd  on  the  lake  below. 

Her  conscious  tail  her  joy  declar'd  ; 
The  fair  round  face,  the  snowy  beard. 

The  velvet  of  her  paws. 
Her  coat  that  with  the  tortoise  vies, 
Her  ears  of  jet  and  emerald  eyes. 

She  saw  :   and  purred  applause. 

Still  had  she  gaz'd  ;  but  midst  the  tide 
Two  angel  forms  were  seen  to  glide. 

The  genii  of  the  stream  : 
Their  scaly  armour's  Tyrian  hue. 
Through  richest  purple  to  the  view, 

Betray'd  a  golden  gleam. 

The  hapless  Nymph  with  wonder  saw  ; 
A  whisker  first,  and  then  a  claw. 

With  many  an  ardent  wish. 
She   stretch'd,    in   vain,    to   reach    the 

prize  : 
What  female  heart  can  gold  despise  ? 

What  cat's  averse  to  tish  V 


AN  ELEGY  ON  THE  GLORY 
OF  HER  SEX,  MRS.  MARY 
BLAIZE. 

Good  people  all  with  one  accord 
Lament  for  Madame  Blaize, 

Who  never  wanted  a  good  word. 
From  those  who  spoke  her  praise. 

The  needy  seldom  pass'd  her  door. 
And  always  found  her  kind  ; 

She  freely  lent  to  all  the  poor — 
Who  left  a  pledge  behind. 

She  strove  the  neighbourhood  to  please, 
With  manners  wondrous  winning. 

And  never  foUow'd  wicked  ways — 
Unless  when  she  was  sinning. 

At  church  in  silks  and  satins  new. 
With  hoop  of  monstrous  size  ; 

She  never  slumber'd  in  her  pew — 
But  when  she  shut  her  eyes. 

Her  love  was  sought,  I  do  aver. 

By  twenty  beaux  or  more  : 
The  King  himself  has  foUow'd  her — 

W'hen  she  has  walk'd  before. 

But  now  her  wealth  and  finery  fled. 
Her  hangers-on  cut  short-all  ; 

The  doctors  found  when  she  was  dead — 
Her  last  disorder  mortaL 


240 


Poems  for  Children. 


Let  us  lament  in  sorrow  sore 
For  Kent-street  ■well  may  say, 

That   had   she  lived   a  twelvemonth 
more — 
She  had  not  died  to-day. 

Oliver  Goldsmith. 


I  fear  no  plots  against  me, 

I  live  in  open  cell, 
Tlien  who  would  be  a  king. 

When  beggars  live  so  well  ? 
And    a-begging    we    will    go,    will    go, 

Avill  go  : 
And  a-begging  we  will  go  ! 

John  Play  ford. 


THE  JO  VIAL  BEGaAES. 

There  was  a  jovial  beggar. 

He  had  a  wooden  leg. 
Lame  from  his  cradle. 

And  forced  for  to  beg. 
And    a-begging   we   will   go,    will   go, 

will  go  ; 
And  a-begging  we  will  go  J 

A  bag  for  his  oatmeal. 

Another  for  his  salt. 
And  a  pair  of  crutches. 

To  show  that  he  can  halt. 
And  a-begging,  etc. 

A  bag  for  his  wheat. 

Another  for  his  rye. 
And  a  little  bottle  by  his  side. 

To  drink  when  he  is  dry. 
And  a-begging,  etc. 

Seven  years  I  begged 

For  my  old  master  Wild ; 
He  taught  me  to  beg 

When  I  was  but  a  child. 
And  a-begging,  etc. 

I  begged  for  my  master, 
And  I  got  him  store  of  pelf ; 

But  Jove  now  be  praLsed, 
I'm  begging  for  myself. 

And  a-begging,  etc. 

In  a  hollow  tree 

I  live  and  pay  no  rent ; 
Providence  provides  for  me. 

And  I  am  well  conten 
etc. 

Of  all  the  occupations, 

A  l^eggar's  is  the  best. 
For  whenever  he's  a-weary. 

He  can  lay  him  down  to  rest. 
And  a-begging,  etc 


THE  YAEN"   OP   THE    "NANCY 
BELL.' 

'TwAS  on  the  shores  that  round  our 
coast 

From  Deal  to  Ramsgate  span, 
That  I  found  alone  on  a  piece  of  stone 

An  elderly  naval  man. 

His    hair   was    weedy,    his   beard   was 
long. 
And  weedy  and  long  was  he. 
And  I  heard  this  wight  on  the  shore 
recite. 
In  a  singular  niiiior  key : 

"Oh!     I   am    a    cook    and    a   captain 
bold, 
And  the  mate  of  the  Nana/  brig, 
And    a    bo'sun    tight,  and    a    inidship- 
mite, 
And  the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig." 

And  he  shook  his  fists  and  he  tore  his 
hair. 
Till  I  really  felt  afraid. 
For  I  couldn't  help  thinking  the  man 
had  been  drinking. 
And  so  I  simply  said : 

*'  Oh,    elderly  man,  it's  little  I  know 
Of  the  duties  of  men  of  the  sea. 

And  I'll  eat  my  hand  if  I  understand 
How  you  can  possibly  be 

"  At  once  a  cook,  and  a  captain  bold. 
And  the  mate  of  the  Nancy  brig. 

And   a   bo'sun   tight,  and   a   midship- 
mite. 
And  the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig." 

Then  he  gave  a  hitch  to  his  trousers, 
which 
Is  a  trick  all  seamen  larn« 


Humorous  Verse. 


241 


I 


And   having   got  rid   of  a   thumping 
quid, 
He  spun  this  painful  yarn : 

"  'Twas  in  the  good  ship  Nancy  Bell 
That  we  sailed  to  the  Indian  sea, 

And  there  on  a  reef  we  come  to  2rief, 
Which  has  often  occurred  to  me. 

"  And  pretty  nigh  all  the  crew   was 
drowned 

(There  was  seventy-seven  o'  soul), 
And  only  ton  of  the  Nancy^s  men 

Said  '  Here  !  '  to  the  muster-roll. 

"  Tliere  was  me  and  the  cook  and  the 
captain  bold, 
And  the  mate  of  the  Nancy  brig, 
And  the  bo'sun  tight,  and  a  midship- 
mite. 
And  the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig. 

♦'  For  a  month  we'd  neither  wittles  nor 
drink. 
Till  a-hungry  we  did  feel, 
So   we   draw'd    a   lot,    and     accordin' 
shot 
The  captain  for  o;.r  meal. 

•'  The  next  lot  fell  to  the  Nancy'' a  mate, 
And  a  delicate  dish  he  made  ; 

Then   our   appetite  Avith  the   midship- 
mite. 
We  seven  survivors  stayed. 

"  And  then  we  murdered  the    bo'snn 
tight. 
And  he  much  resembled  pig  ; 
Then   we   wittled   free,   did   the   cook 
and  me. 
On  the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig. 

"  Then  only  the  cook  and  me  was  left, 
And  the  delicate  question,  '  Which 

Of  us  two  goes  to  the  kettle  ?  '  arose 
And  we  argued  it  out  as  sich. 

"  For  I  loved  that  cook  as  a  brotlicr, 

I  did, 

And  the  cook,  he  worshipped  me  ; 

But  we'd  both  be  blowed  if  we'd  either 

be  stowed 

In  the  other  chap's  hold,  you  see. 

"  '  I'll  be  eat  if  you  dines  off  me,'  savs 
Tom  ; 
*  Yes,  that,'  says  I,  '  you'll  be,' — 


'  I'm  boiled  if  I  die,  my  friend,'  quoth 
And  '  Exactly  so,'  quoth  he. 

"  Says  he,  '  Dear  James,  to  murder  me 

Were  a  foolish  thing  to  do. 
For   don't   you    see    that    you    can't 
cook  me, 

While  I  can — and  will — cook  you  !  ' 

"  So  he  boils  the  water,  and  takes  the 
salt 
And  the  pepper  in  portions  true 
(Which    he    never    forgot),    and    some 
chopped  shalot. 
And  some  sage  and  parsley  too. 

"  *  Come  here,'   says  he,  with  a  proper 
pride, 

Wlticli  his  smiling  features  tell, 
*  It  will  soothing  be  if  I  let  you  see 

How  extremely  nice  you'll  smell !  ' 

"  And  he  stirred  it  round  and  round 
and  round. 
And    he    sniffed    at    the    foaming 
froth ; 
When  I  lips  with  his  heels,  and  smothers 
his  squeals 
In  the  scum  of  the  boiling  broth. 

And  I  eat  that  cook  in  a  week  or  less 

And — as  I  eating  be 
The  last  of  his   chops,  why,  I  almost 
drops. 

For  a  vessel  in  sight  I  see. 


"  And  I  never  larf,  and  I  never  smile. 

And  I  never  larf  nor  play. 
But  sit  and  croak,  and  a  single  joke 

I  have — which  is  to  say  : 

"  Oh  !  I  am  a  cook  and  a  captain  bold, 
And  the  mate  of  the  Nancy  brig. 

And  a  bo'sun  tight  and  a  midship-mite. 
And  the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig !  " 
W.  S.   GUherl. 


BEIili'S  DREAM. 

It  was  the  little  Isabel, 

Upon  the  sand  she  lay. 
The  8umnn«-  sun  struck  hotly  down, 

16 


242 


Poems  for  Children. 


And  she  was  tired  of  play  ; 
And  down  she  sank  into  the  sea, 
Though  how,  she  could  not  say. 

She  stood  within  a  dreadful  court. 

Beneath  the  rolling  tide, 
Tliere  sat  a  sturgeon  as  a  judge. 

Two  lobsters  at  her  side  ; 
She  had  a  sort  of  vague  idea 

That  she  was  being  tried. 

And  then  the  jurymen  came  in. 
And,  as  the  clock  struck  ten. 

Rose  Sergeant  Shark  and  hitched  his 
gown, 
And  trifled  with  a  pen. 

"  Ahem  !    May't  please  your  Lordship, 
And  gentle  jurymen  ! 

"  Tlie  counts  against  the  prisoner 

Before  you,  are  that  she 
Has  eaten  salmon  once  at  least, 

And  soles  most  constantly  ; 
Likewise  devoured  one  hundred  shrimps 

At  Margate  with  her  tea." 

"  Call  witnesses  !  " — An  oyster  rose, 
He  spoke  in  plaintive  tone  : 

"  Last  week  her  mother  bouglit  a  fish," 
(He  scarce  could  check  a  moan)  ; 

"  He  was  a  dear,  dear  friend  of  mine, 
His  weight  Vas  half  a  stone  !  " 

"  '  No  oysters,  ma'am  ?  '  the  fishman 
said  ; 

'  Mo,  not  to-day  !  '  said  she  ; 
My  child  is  fond  of  salmon,  but 

Oysters  do  not  agree  ! 
Tlie  fishman  wiped  a  salt,  salt  tear, 

And  murmured,  '  Certainly  !  '  " 

"  Ahem  !    but,"  interposed  the  judge, 
"  How  do  you  know,"  said  he, 

"  That  she  did  really  eat  the  fish  ?  " 
"  My  Lord,  it  so  must  be. 

Because  the  oysters,  I  submit, 
\Vith  her  did  not  agree  !  " 

"  Besides,  besides,"  the  oyster  cried, 

Half  in  an  injured  way, 
"  1  he  oysters  in  that  fishman's  shop 

My  relatives  were  they : 
Tiiey  heard  it  all,  they  wrote  to  me, 

The  letter  came  to-day  !  " 

"  'Tis  only  hearsay  evidence," 

The  judge  remarked,  and  smiled ; 


"  But  it  will  do  in  such  a  case. 
With  such  a  murd'rous  child. 

Call  the  next  witness  !  "  for  he  saw 
The  jury  getting  wild. 

And  then  up  rose  a  little  shrimp  : 

"  I  am  the  last,"  said  he, 
•'  Of  what  was  once,  as  you  all  know, 

A  happy  familee  ! 
Without  a  care  we  leapt  and  danced 

All  in  the  merry  sea  ! 

"  Alack  !    the  cruel  fisherman. 

He  caught  them  all  but  me. 
The   pris'ner   clapped   her   hands   and 
yelled — 

T  heard  her —  '  Shrimps  for  tea  i  ' 
And  then  went  home  and  ate  tiiem  ail 

As  fast  as  fast  could  be." 

Tl'.e  foreman  of  the  jurv  rose 

(All  hope  for  Bell  had  fled), 
"  There  is  no  further  need,  ray  Lord, 

Of  witnesses,"  he  said  ; 
"  The  verdict  of  us  one  and  all 

Is,  Guilfif  on  each  head  !  " 

"  Guilty,''''     his     Lordship     said,     and 
sighed  ; 

"  A  verdict  sad  but  true : 
To  pass  the  sentence  of  the  court 

Is  all  I  have  to  do  ; 
It  is,  that  as  you've  fed  on  us. 

Why,  we  must  feed  on  you  !  " 

She  tried  to  speak,  she  could  not  speak  ; 

She  tried  to  run,  but  no  ! 
The  lobsters  seized  and  hurried  her 

Oil  to  the  cells  below. 
And  each  pulled  out  a  carving-knife. 

And  waved  it  to  and  fro. 
****** 

But  hark  !    there   comes  a  voice  she 
knows. 

And  someone  takes  her  hand  ; 
She  finds  herself  at  home  again 

L^pon  the  yellow  sand  ; 
But  how  she  got  there  safe  and  sound 

She  cannot  understand. 

.\nd  many  a  morning  afterwards, 

Whene'er  she  sees  the  tide. 
She  still  retains  that  vague  idea. 

That  she  is  being  tried. 
And  seems  to  see  the  sturgeon  judge 

And  the  lol^sters  at  lier  side. 

Ired.  K  Wealherly, 


Humorous  Verse 


243 


LITTLE   BIIiliEE. 

There    were   three   sailors   of   Bristol 
city 
Wlio  touk  a  boat  and  went  to  sea. 
But     first     witli     beef   and     captain's 
biscuits 
[     And  pickled  pork  they  loaded  she. 

Tiiere  was  gorging  Jack  and  guzzling 
Jimmy, 
And  the  youngest  he  was  little  JJillee, 
Now  when  they    got    so    far    as    tiie 
Equator 
They'd   nothing   left   but   one   split 
pea. 

Says  gorging  Jack  to  guzzling  Jimmy, 
"  I  am  extremely  hungaree." 

To  gorging  Jack  says  guzzling  Jimmy, 
"  We've  nothing  left,    us   must  eat 


Says  gorging  Jack  to  guzzling  Jimmy, 

"  With    one    another,    we    shouldn't 

agree  ! 

There's    little    Bill,    he's    young    and 

tender. 

We're  old  and  tough,  so  let's  eat  he." 

"  Oh  !  Billy,  we're  going  to  kill  and 
eat  you, 

So  undo  the  button  of  your  cliemic." 
Wlien  Bill  received  this  information 

He   used   his   pocket-handkerchie. 

"  First  let  me  say  my  catechism. 
Which  my  poor  mammy  taught  to 
me." 
"  Make     haste,     make     hast«,"     says 
guzzling  Jimmy 
Wliile  Jack  pulledout  his  snickersnee. 

So    Billy    went    up    to   the    main-top 
gallant  mast, 
And   down   he   fell    on   his   bended 
knee. 
He  scarce   had   come   to   the   twelfth 
commandment 
When  up  he  jumps,  "  There's  land  I 
see. 

I  "  Jerusalem  and  Madagascar, 

I         And  North  and  South  Amerikee  : 

I  There's    the    British    flag    a-riding    at 

I  anchor, 

'         With   Admiral   Napier,    K.C.B." 


So    when    they    got     aboard     of    the 
Admiral's 
He   hanged   fat    Jack    and    flogged 
Jimmee  ; 
But  as  for  little  Bill,  he  made  him 
The  Captain  of  a  Seventy-Tliree 

WUliain  Makepeace  Tluickeray. 


u 


THE   PIED    PIPER   OF 

^;^A.  HAMELIN. 

Hamelin  Town's  in  Brunswick 
By  famous  Hanover  cityj^ 

The  river  Weserydaiu.  and  wid^. 
Washes  its  wall  on   the  southern 

side>/ 
A  pleasanter  spot  youjievi^ spied  ; 


But,  whea.begins  my  ditty,  . 

Alniost  fivehundred_years  ago/^ 
To  see  the  townsfolk  suffer  so 
From  vermin  was  a  pity, 

'  Rats 


■/ 


They  fought  the  dogs,  and  killed  the 
cats,  J 

And  hit  the  babies  in  the  cradles./ 
And  aj£  the  cheeses  out  of  the  vats. 

And  lickecL  the  soup  from  the  cook's 
own  ladlesy^''^ 
Split  open  tlie  Tcegs  of  salted  spratsj 
Alade  nesJB  inside'men's  Sunday  hats/ 
And   even  Sfjcijed.  the  women  s   tjml^i. 

By  drowning  their  speaking 

With  sEiieiuSg  a-ii<l  stj[ueaking^ 
In  fifty  different  sharps  and  Hats.. 

At  last  the  people  in  a  body  . 

To  the  Town  Hall  cameilacJbflg/ 
*'  'Tis     clear,"     cried     they,     "  our 

Mayor's  a  noddy^ 
And    as    for    our     Coi'^oration — 

shocking 
To  think  that  we  buy  gowns  lined 

with  ermine 
For     dolts  /that    can't    or    won't 

determine  y 

What's  best  to  rid  us  of  our  yermin  K 
You  hope,   because  you're  old  artd 

obese, 
To    find    in   .the    furry    civic    robe 

eaaej[.„/ 
Rouaa  up, 'sirs!     Give  your  brain 

a  racking 

^~  16* 


244 


Poems  for  Children. 


To  find  the   remedvLwe're  lacking. 

Or,    Bure    as    late.    we'll    send    you 
packing  !/^ 
At  this""lhe  Alkyor  and  Corp.Qration    , 
Quaked  with,  a  mighty  consteruation, 

_^    An  hour  they  sat  in  council,  , 

<=^^gj^^        At  length  the  Mayor  broke  silence^ 
"  For  a  guilder  I'd  my  ermine  gown 
sellj, 
I  wist  I  were  a_mile_hence  ! 
It's    easy    to    Md    one    rack    one's 

brain — 
I'm  sure  my  poor  head  aches  again 
I've  scratched  it  so,  and  all  in^vain. 
Oh  for  a  trap,  a  trap,  a  trapj?*^ 
Just,  as    he    said    this,   what    should 

hap 
At    the   chamber   door   but    a  gentle 
tap  ? 
"  Bless  us,"  cried  the  Mayor,  "  what's 
^     that  ?  " 

V  rt  ■     ( With  the~Corporation  as  he  sat,  / 

Looking  httle  though  wondrous   fat/j 
Nor  brighter  was  his  eye,  nor  moi^t^r. 
Than  a  too-long-opened  oyster,^ 
Save  when  at  noon  his  paunch  grew 

mutinous 
For    a    plate    oi    turtle     green     and 
glutinou^ 
"■  "  Unly    a    scraping    of    shoes    on 

the  Taa,^ 
Anything  hke  the  sound  of  a  rat 
Makes  my  heart  go  pit-a-pat  i^ 
"  Come    in  !  "—the    Mayor  cried, 

looking  bigger/ 
And    in    did    come    the    strangest 
figure, 

(^  ,  His   queer  long  coat  from   heel   to 

head  , 

Was  half  of  yellow''and  half  of  rec]/; 

And  he  himself  was  tall  and  thin, 

With  sharp  blue  eyes,  each  like  a 

pin,  *■ 
And    light   loose   hair,  yet  swarthy 

skin. 
No  tuft  onlpheek  nor  beard  on  chin. 
But  lips  where  smiles  went  out  and 

There  wa^  no  guessing  his  kith  and 
kin/ 

And  nobody  could  enough  admire 

The  tall  man  and  liis  quaint  attire. 

Quoth  one  /  "  It's  as  my  great  grand- 
sire. 


Starting  up  at  the  Trump  of  Doom's 

tone, 
Had    walked    this    way    from    hi- 

painted  tombstone./^ 


il- tabled 
3,"  saia  he. 


He  advanced  to  the  council- 
And,  "  Please,  yoiu-  honours, 
"I'm  able. 
By  means   of    a    secret  charm,    to 

draw 
All  creatures  hving  beneath  the  sun/ 
That  creep,  or  swim,  or  fl}',  or  run. 
After  me  so  as  you  never  saw  !/ 
And  I  chiefly  use  my  charm 
On  creatures  that  do  people  harm./ 
The  mole,  and  toad,  and  newt,  and 

viper ;  / 

And  people  call  me  the  Pied  Piper/ 
(And    here    they    noticed    roimd    his 
neck 
A  scarf  of  red  and  yellow  stripe. 
To  match  with  his  coat  of  the  selfsame 
cheque^'  . 

And  at  the  scarfs  end  hung  a  pipe/ 
And  his  fingers,  they  noticed,  were  ever 

straying 
As  if  impatient  to  be  playing 
Upon  this  pipCj/as  low  it  dangled 
Over  his  vesture  so  old-fangled.) 

"  Yet,"   said  he,   "  poor  piper  as  I 

am. 
In  Tartary  I  freed  the  Cham, 
Last  June,  from  his  huge  swarms  of 

gnats  ;■ 
I  eased  in'A^ia  the  Nizam 
,Qi  a .  iXLOiiiiU'ou*  brood   of  vampk-e 

batg: 
And,    as   for   what  yoxu:   brain   be- 
wilders. 
If  I  can  rid  your  town  of  rat^ 
Will    you     give     me      a    "thousand 
>  -     guilders  ?  " 
,-     One  ?    fifty  thousand  !  " — was  the 
i^  exclamation 

Of  the  astonished  Mayor  and  Corpora- 
tion. 

*    '^to  the  street  the  Piper  stept,' 
V         Smiling  first  a  little  smile. 
As  if  he  kuew  w  hat  magic  slept 
In  his  quiet  pipe  the  while  y' 
Then,  Hke  a  musical  adept. 
To  blow  the  pipe  his  lips  he  Avrinkled, 
And  green  and  blue  his  sharp  eyes 

twinkled 
Like   a   candle- flame'  where  salt    is 
sprinkled ; 


Humorous  Verse. 


24^ 


And    ere  three  thrill  notes  (ho  pipe  Carious  scarce  an  inch  before  nie, 

uttered,  /       S^^ist    as    niethought    it   said,    come, 

You  heard  as  if  an  grmy  niuttertd  •/  bore  me  ! 

And  the  muttering  grew  to  a  grumo-    ,  f^  — I  found  the  Weser  rolling  o'er  me." 
ling  ;  .^       " — ' -■ 

And  the  grumbling  grew  to  a  mighty  V  You  should  have  heard  the  Hamelin 
rumbhng ;  /  ^  people 

And   out  of  the  house  the  rats  came  c\  Ringing  the  bells  till  they  rocked  the 


tumbling^// 
Great    rats,   small   rats,    lean   rats, 

brawny  rats. 
Brown    rats,   black  rats,  gray  rats, 

tawny  f|}|tav^ 

Iders,     gay    young 


ve     old     'tjloc 
friskers^ 


Fathers,  mothers,  uncles,  cousins, 
Cocking  tails  and  pricking  whiskery^ 
— JDaiL'ihes  l)y  tens  and  (Jozens, 
Jirotliers,  sisters^Tu^Taluis,  wives— 
Followed  the  Piper  for  their  hvcs*'' 
From  street  to  street  he  piped  ad- 
vancing. 
And     step     bv    step    they    followed 

dancing/*^ 
Until  thev  came  tothe  river  Weser 


steeple. 
"  Go,"   cried   the  Mayor,    "  and   get 

long  poles  I"^ 
Poke   out   the  nests   and    block   up 

the  holes^>^ 
Consult  with  carpenters  and  builders. 
And  leave  in  our  town  not  even   a 

trace  / 

Of  the  rats  !  ^f — when  suddenly   uji' 

the  face  ' 
Of  the  Piper  perked  in  the  market- 
place. 
With    a,    "  First,    if   you    please,    my 

thousand  guilders  !  " 


A     thousand     guilders  ! 
looked   blue  ; 


The     Mavor 


Wherein  all  plunged  and  perished——  So  did  the  Corporation  too. 
— Save    owey  who,    stout    as   Julius       t<Vr  n/Mir.r.:|  (ijmiT^ra  .i^Q^iaaM^i^tm^.. 
Ctcsar,  With    Claret,    Moselle,     Vin-de-(;rav'e, 


Swam  across  and  lived  to  carry 

(As  he  the  manuscript  he  cherished) 

To  Kat-land  home  his  commentarv, 
— *'*'*--^  .  -    ""li'l    """'^ 

notes  of  the  pipe, 

I  heard  a  sound  as  of  scraping  tripe, 

And  putting  apples,  wondrous  ripe, 

Into   a  cider-press's  gripe  ; 

And  a  moving  away   of    picklc-tub- 
boards. 

And  a  leaving  ajar  of  conserve  cup- 
boards. 

And    a    drawing  the  corks  of  train- 
oil-flasks. 

And  a  breaking  the  hoops  of  butter 
casks  ; 

And  it  seemed  as  if  a  voice 

(Sweeter    far  than   by    harp    or   by 
psaltery 

Is  breathed)  called    out,   Oh,   rats  ! 
rejoice  ! 

The  world  is  grown  to  one  vast  dry- 
saltery ! 

To  munch  on,  crimch  on,  take  your 
nmiclieon, 

Breakfast,  supper,  dinner,  luncheon  ! 


Hock; 

And  half  the  money  woidd  replenish 
'''''■Mr  rrl]'^'-'s'"pp>^f  i^^ff  ..^uh  pi,,,..;  .u 
To  jiay  this  sum  to  a  wandering  tellow' 
With  a  gipsy  goat  of  red  aiul  yellow  Y 
"  Eeside^'^^quoth  the  ]\Iayor,  vitii  a 

knowing  wink, 
"  Our  business  was  done  at  the  ri  ver's 

brink ;  y 

We  saw  with  our  eyes  the  vermin  sinlv< 
And  what's  dead  can't  come  to  life, 

I  think. 
So,   friend,   we're  not    the   folks   to 

shrink 
From  the  duty  of  giving  you  some- 
thing to  drink/'' 
And  a  matter  of  money  to  put  in  j'our 

poke/' 
But,  as   for   the   guilders,   what   \\\' 

spoke  ^ 

Of  them,  as  j'ou  very  well  know,  was 

in  joke. 
Besides,    our    losses    have    made    us 

thrifty  ,-^ 
A  thousand  guilders  y     Come,  take 

fifty  !  " 


And  just  as  a  bulky  sugar  puncheon. 
All  ready  staved,   like  a  great  aun  ,  t,  The  piper's  face  fell,  and  he  cried, 
shone  -  J        "  i<o  trifling  I  I  can't  wait,  beside  ! 


246 


Poems   for   Children. 


I've   promised   to   visit   by   dinner- 
time 
Bagdad*  and  accepted  the  prime 
Of  the  Head  Cook's  pottage,  all  he's 

rich  in, 
For    having    left,    in    the    Caliph's 
kitchen,  y 

Of  a  nest  of  scorpions  no  survivor^ 
With    him    I    proved    no    bargain- 
driver,  '' 
With  you,   ^on't  think  I'll   bate  a 

stiver  K 
And  folks  who  put  me  in  a  passion 
May  find  me  pipe  to  another  fashion." 

"How?  Scried   the   Mayor,    "  d've 
think  I'll  brook  y/ 

Being  worse  treated  than  a  Cook  f 
Insulted  by  a  lazy  ribald  / 

With  idle  pipe  and  vesture  piebaki? 
Yoii  threaten  us,  fellow  ?     Do  your 
worst, 
>■'■    Blow  your  pipe  there  till  you  burst  !" 

""Once  more  he  stept  into  the  street ; 
And  to  his  lips  again 
Laid  his  long  pipe  of  smooth  straight 

cane ;  ^ 

And  ere  he  blew  three  notes  (such 

sweet 
Soft  notes  as  yet  musicians  cunniiig 

Never  gave  the  enraptured  air)< 
There  was  a  rustling,  that  seemeci  like  a"" 

bustling  / 

Of  merry  crowds  justlingy/at  pitching 

and  hustling, 
Small  feet  were  pattering,  wooden  slices 

clattering. 
Little  hands  clapping,  and  little  tongues 

chattering 
And,  like  fowls    in  a  farmyard    when 

barley  is  scattering,  , 

Out  came  the  children  running/ 
All  the  httle  boj^s  and  girls,  / 

AVith  rosy  cheeks  and  flaxen  curls{ 
And    sparkling   eyes    and    teeth    like 

pearb; 
Tripping    and    skipping,    ran    merrily 

after 
The  wonderful  music  with  shouting  and 

laughtei;^ 
The  Mayor  was  dumb,  and  the  Council 

stood 
As  if  they  were  changed  into  blocks  of 

wood/ 
Unable  to  move  a  step,  or  cry 
To  the  children  merrily  skipping  by — 


And  could  only  follow  with  the  eye         . 
That  joyous  crowd  at  the  Piper's  baclj/ 
But  how  the  Jlaj'or  was  on  the  rack. 
And    the    wretched    Council's    bosoms 

beat/ 
As  the  piper  turned  from  the    High 

Street 
To  where  the  Weser  rolled  its  waters 
Right  in   the   way  of  their  sons    and 

daughters>'^^ 
However    he    turned    from    South    to 

West,^ 
And    to    Koppelberg    Hill    his    steps 

addressed. 
And  after  him  the  children  pressed  ; 
Great  was  the  joy  in  every  breastr-'''^ 
"  He  never  can  cross   that  mighty 

top  ! 
He's  forced  to  let  the  piping  drop    y 
And  Ave  shall  see  our  cliildren  stop  \^ 
When  lo  !    as  they  reached  the  moun- 
tain's side, 
A  wondrous  portal  opened  wide< 
As  if  a  cavern  was  suddenly  hollowed  ; 
And    the    Piper    advanced*^  and    the 

children   followed. 
And  when  all  Avere  in  to  the  very  last. 
The   door   in,    the   mountain-side  shut 

fast.'' 
Did  I  say  all  ?     Xo  !    one  was  lame, 
And  could  not  dance  the  Avhole  of  the 


way. 


If     1    I  _.  IL  

Ana    m    after    yeai-s,    it    you    would 

blame 
His  sadness,  he  was  used  to  say  : 

"  It's    dull    in    our    town    since    mj 

playmates  left ; 
I  can't  forget  that  I'm  bereft 
Of  all  the  pleasant  sights  they  see. 
Which  the  Piper  also  promised  me  , 
For  he  led  us,  he  said,  to  a  joyous 

land, 
Joining  the  town    and  just  at  hand. 
Where   waters  gushed  and  fruit   Ireco 

grew. 
And  flowers  put  forth  a  fairer  hue, 
And  everything  was  strange  and  new 
The  sparrows  A\ere  brighter  than  pea- 
cocks here. 
And  their  dogs  outran  our  falloAv  deer. 
And  honey-bees  had  lost  their  stings  ; 
And    horses    were    born    with    eagle's 

wings ; 
And  just  as  I  became  assured 
My  lame  foot  would  be  speedily  cured, 
The  music  stopped,  and  I  stood  still. 
And  found  myaelf  outside  the  Hill, 


Humorous  Verse. 


247 


Left  alone  against  my  will, 

I'o  go  now  limping  as  bcforo, 

And  never  hear  of  that  counlry  more  ! ' 


Alas,  alas  for  Hamelin  ! 

There  came  into  many  a  burgher's 

pate 
A   text  which  saya,   that  Heaven's 

(jate 
Opes  to  the  Rich  at  as  easy  rate 
As  the  needle's  eye  takes  a  camel  in  ! 

The  Mayor  sent  East,  West,  North  and 

Souty^ 
To  offer  the  Piper  by  word  of  mouth, 
Wherever  it  was  men's  lot  to  find 

him,''  y 

Silver  and  gold  to  his  heart's  content/ 
If  he'd  only  return  the  way  he  went, 
And   bring   the   children   all    behind 

hii;>r 
But  when  they  saw  'twas  a  lost  en- 
deavour, 
And  Piper  and  dancers  were  gone  for 

ev^^ 
They  made    a    decree     that     lawyers 

never 

Should  think  their  records  dated  duly 

If,  after  the  day  of  the  month  and  yeni- 

These  words  did  not  as  well  appeaiy^ 

"  And  so  long  after  what  happened 

here 
On  the  twenty-second  of  July, 
Thirteen  hundred  and  seventy-six  :  "'^ 
And  the  better  in  memory  to  fix 
The  place  of  the  Children's  last  retreat  "^ 
They  called  it,  the  Pied  Piper's  street^ 
Where    any    one    playing    on    pipe    or 

tabor. 
Was  sure   for  the   futiue    to   lose    his 

labour./ 
Nor  suffered  they  hostelry  or  tavern 
To    shock    with    mirth    a    street    so 

solemn  j 
But  opposite  the  place  of  the  cavern 
They  wrote  the  story  on  a  coluuui. 
And    on    the    great     church     window 

painted 
The  same,  to  make  the  world  acquainted 
How  their  children  were  stolen  a\\  ay  / 
And  there  it  stands  to  this  very  day/ 
And  i  niusti  not  oinit  to  say  " 

That  in  Transyjvania  there's  a  tribe 
Of  alien  people/ that  ascribe 
The  outlandish  ways  and  dress. 
On    which   their   neighbours   lay   such 

stress. 


To   tlu'ir   fathers  and   mothers/having 

risen  /        ^ 

Out  of  some  subterraneous  prison, 
Into  which  they  were  trepanned 
Long  time  ago  in  a  mighty  band 
Out   of    Hamelin    town  in  Brunswick 

land, 
But   how   or  why   they   don't  under- 
stand. 

r    - ■■..-.•-■.—«——.—  ■ ■ 

So,  Willy,  let  you  and  me  be  wipers 
Of  scores  out  with  all  men — especially 

pipers  ; 
And,  whether  they  pipe  us  free  from 

rats  or  from  mice. 
If  we've  promised  them  aught,  let  us 

keep  our  promise. 

Robert  Browning. 


THE  LOBSTER  AND  THE 
MAID. 

He  was  a  gentle  lobster 

(The  boats  had  just  come  in). 

He  did  not  love  the  fishermen. 
He  could  not  stand  their  din  ; 

And  so  he  quietly  stole  oft". 
As  if  it  were  no  sin. 

She  was  a  little  maiden, 

He  met  her  on  the  sand, 
"  And  how  d'j^ou  do  ?  "  the  lobster  said, 
Why  don't  you  give  your  hand  ?  " 
For  why  she  edged  away  from  him 

He  could  not  understand. 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  the  maiden  said  : 
"  Excuse  me,  if  yon  please," 

And  put  her  hands  behind  her  back, 
And  doubled  up  her  knees  ; 

"  I  always  thought  that  lobsters  were 
A  httle  apt  to  squeeze." 

"  Your  ignorance,"  the  lobster  said, 

"  Is  natural,  I  fear  ; 
Such  scandal  is  a  shame,"  he  sobbed, 

"  It  is  not  true,  my  dear," 
And  with  his  pocket-handkerchief 

He  wiped  away  a  tear. 

So  out  she  put  her  little  hand. 
As  thougii  she  feared  him  not. 


248 


Poems   for  Children. 


When  someone  grabbed  him  suddenly 

And  put  him  in  a  pot, 
With  water  which,  I  think  he  found 

Uncomfortably   hot. 

It  may  have  been  the  water  made 
The  blood  flow  to  his  head, 

It  may  have  been  that  dreadful  fib 
Lay  on  his  soul  like  lead  ; 

This  much  is  true — he  went  in  grey. 
And  came  out  very  red. 

Fred.  E.  Weatherly. 


THE  JACKDAW  OF  RHEIMS. 

AN    INGOLDSBY    LEGEND. 

The   Jackdaw   sat   on   the   Cardinal's 

chair  ! 
Bishop    and    abbot    and    prior    were 

there ; 
Many  a  monk,  and  many  a  friar. 
Many  a  knight,  and  many  a  squire. 
With    a    great    many    more    of    lesser 

degree, — 
In  sooth  a  goodly  company  ; 
And  they  served  the  Lord  Primate  on 

bended  knee. 
Never,  I  ween,  was  a  prouder  seen. 
Read   of   in    books,    or    dreamt  of  in 

dreams. 
Than  the  Cardinal  Lord  Archbishop  of 

Rheims  ! 

In   and   out  through   the   motley 
rout. 
That    little    Jackdaw    kept    hopping 
about ; 
Here  and  there  hke  a  dog  in  a  fair, 
Over  comfits  and  cakes,  and  dishes 
and  plates. 
Cowl  and  cope,  and  rochet  and  pall. 
Mitre  antl  crosier  !   he  hopp'd  upon  all ! 
With  saucy  air,  he  perch'd  on  the 

chair 
Where,    in   state,   the    great    Lord 
Cardinal  sat 
In   the    great   Lord    Cardinal's    great 
red  hat ; 
And  he  peer'd  in  the  face  of  his  Lord- 
ship's Grace, 
With  a  satisfied  look,  as  if  he  would 

say, 
"  We  two  are  the  greatest  folks  here 
to-day  1  " 


The   feast   was   over,   the   board    was 

clear'd. 
The   llawns   and   the  custards  had  all 

disappear'd. 
And  six  httle  singing-boys — dear  little 

souls  ! 
In  nice   clean  faces,    and  nice    white 

stoles. 
Came,  in  order  due,  two  by  two. 
Marching  that  grand  refectory  through ! 
A  nice  little  boy  held  a  golden  ewer. 
Emboss'  d    and   fill'd   with  water,    as 

pure 
As  any  that  flows  between  Rheims  and 

Namur, 
Which  a  nice  little  boy  stood   ready 

to  catch 
In  a  fine  golden  hand-basin  made  to 

match. 
Two    nice    Uttle    boys,    rather    more 

grown. 
Carried    lavender-water    and    eau    do 

Cologne  ; 
And  a  nice    little  boy  had  a  nice  cake 

of  soap. 
Worthy  of    washing  the  hands  of  the 

Pope. 
One  little  boy  more  a  napkin  bore. 
Of  the  best  white  diaper,  fringed  with 

pink. 
And     a     Cardinal's     Hat    mark'd    in 

"  permanent  ink." 

The  Great  Lord  Cardinal  turns  at  the 

sight 
Of  these  nice  little  boys  dress'd  all  in 

white  : 
From  his  finger  he  draws  his  costly 

turquoise  ; 
And,  not  thinking  at  all  about    little 

Jackdaws, 
Deposits  it  straight  by  the  side  of 

his  plate. 
While  the    nice    little    boys     on     his 

Eminence  wait ; 
Till,  when     obody's  dreaming  of  any 

such  thing, 
That  httle  Jackdaw  hops  off  with  tiio 

ling  ! 
There's  a  cry  and  a  shout,  and  no 

end  of  a  rout. 
And    nobody    seems    to    know    what 

they're  about. 
But  the  monks  have  their  pockets  all 

turn'd  inside  out ; 
The     friars     are     kneeling,     and 

hunting,  and  feeling 


Humorous  Verse. 


249 


The  carpet,  the  floor,   and   the  walls, 
and  the  ceiling. 
The  Cardinal  drew  ofif  each  plum- 
coloiir'd  shoe, 
And  left  his  red  stockings  exposed  to 
the  view  ; 
He  peeps,  and  he  feels  in  the  toes 
and  the  heels  ; 
They   turn   up   the   dishes — they   turn 

up  the  plates — 
They  take  up  the  poker  and  poke  out 
the   grates, 
— Thej-   turn   up   the   rugs,    they 

examine    the   mugs  : 
But  no  ! — no   such  thing  : — They 
can't  find  the  ring  ! 
And  the  Abbot  declared  that,  "  when 

nobody  twigg'd  it. 
Some  rascal  or  other  had  popp'd  in,  and 
prigg'd  it !  " 

The    Cardinal   rose   with    a    dignilied 

look. 
He  call'd  for  his  candle,  his  bell,  and 
his  book  ! 
In  holy  anger,  and  pious  grief. 
He    solemnly    cursed    that    rascally 

thief  ! 
He  cursed  him  at  board,  he   cursed 

him  in  bed  ; 
From  the  sole  of  his  foot,  to  the  crown 

of  his  head  ; 
He  cursed  him  in  sleeping,  that  every 

night 
He  should  dream  of  evil,  and  wake  in 

a  fright ; 
He  cursed  liim  in  eating,  he  cursed 

him  in  drinking. 
He    cursed    him    in    coughing,    in 

sneezing,  in  winking  ; 
He  cursed  him  in  sitting,  in  standing, 

in  lying  ; 
He  cursed  him  in  walking,  in  riding, 

in  flying. 
He  cursed  him  in  living,    he  cursed 
him  in  dying  ! — 
Never  was  heard  such  a  terrible  curse  ! 
But   what   gave  rise  to   no    little 
surprise. 
Nobody  seem'd  one  penny  the  worse  ! 

The  day  was  gone,  the  night  came 

on. 
The  Monks  and  the  Friars  they  search'd 

till  dawn  ; 
When     the     Sacristan     saw,     ou 

crumpled   claw, 


Come     limping     a     poor     little     lame 

Jackdaw  ; 
No  longer  gay,  as  on  yesterday  ; 
His  feathers  all  seem'd   to   be  turn'd 

the  wrong  way  : — 
His   pinions   droop'd — he  could  hardly 

stand — 
His  head  was  as  bald  as  the  palm   of 

your  hand  ; 
His  eyes  so  dim,  so  wasted    each 

limb. 
That,   heedless   of  grammar,   they   all 

cried,   "  That's  him  ! — 
That's  the  scamp  that  has  done  this 

scandalous  thing  ! 
That's  the  thief  that  has  got  my  Lortl 

Cardinal's   Ring  !  " 

That  poor  little   Jackdaw,   when 
the  monks  he  saw. 
Feebly  gave  vent    to    the  ghost  of  a 

caw  ; 
And   turn'd  his  bald  head,   as   much 

as  to  say, 
"  Pray  be  so  good  as  to  walk  this  way  !  " 
Slower  and  slower,  he  Ump'd  on 
before. 
Till   they     came  to   the   back   of   the 
belfry  door, 
When  the  first  thing  they  saw. 
Midst  the  sticks  and  the  straw. 
Was  the  RiXG  in  the  nest  of  that  little 
Jackdaw  ! 

Then   the  great  Lord   Cardinal   call'd 

for  his  book, 
And  off  that  terrible  curse  he  took  ; 
The  mute  expression  served  in  lieu 

of  confession. 
And,    being    thus    coupled    with    full 

restitution. 
The  Jackdaw  got  plenary  absolution ! 
— When  those  words  were  heard, 

that  poor  little  bird 
Was  so  changed  in  a  moment,  'twas 

really  absurd. 
He  grew  sleek,   and  fat ;    in   ad- 
dition to  that, 
A   fresh   crop   of  feathers   came   thick 

as  a  mat ! 

His  tail  waggled  more   even   than 

before  ; 
But    no    longer    it    wagg'd    with    an 

impudent  air. 
No  longer  he  perch'd  on  the  Cardinal's 

chair. 


250 


Poems  for  Children. 


He  hopp'd  now  about  with  a  gait 

devout ; 
At  ]\Iatins,  at  Vespers,  he  never  was 

oiit ; 
And,  so  far  from  any   more  pilfering 

deeds, 
He  always  seem'd  telling  the  Confessor's 

beads. 
If  any  one  lied — or  if  any  one  swore — 
Or  slumber'd  in  pra3^er-tinie  and  hap- 
pened to  snore. 
That  good  Jackdaw  would  give  a 

great  "  Caw," 
A3  much  as  to  say,  "  Don't  do  so  any 

more  !  " 
\VTiile  many  remark'd,  as  his  manners 

they  saw, 
That  they  "  never  had  known  sucli  a 

pious  Jack<law  !  " 
He  long  lived   the  pride    of    that 

country  side. 
And  at  last  in   the  odour  of  sanctity 

died  ; 
When,  as  words  were  too  faint,  his 

merits  to  paint, 
The  Conclave  determined  to  make  him 

a  Saint  ! 
And  on  newly- made  Saints  and  Popes, 

as  you  know, 
It's  the  custom,  at  Rome,  new  names 

to    bestow. 
So  they  canonized  him  by  the  name 

of  Jim  Crow  ! 

Beo.  Richard  Harris  Barham. 


A  TRAGIC  STORY. 

There  lived  a  sage  in  days  of  yore. 
And  he  a  handsome  pigtail  wore  ; 
But    wondered    much,    and    sorrowed 
more, 
Because  it  hung  behind  him. 

He  mused  upon  this  curious  case. 
And   swore   he'd   change   the   pigtail's 

place. 
And  have  it  hanging  at  his  face. 
Not  dangling  there  behind  him. 

Says  he,  *'  The  mj^stery  I've  found. — 
I'll  turn  me  round," — he  turned  him 
round ; 
But  still  it  hung  behind  him. 


Then  round  and  round,  and  out  and  in, 
All  day  the  puzzled  sage  did  spin  ; 
In  vain — it  mattered  not  a  pin — 
The  pigtail  hung  behind  him. 

And  right  and  lefb,  and  round  aboiit, 
And  up  and  down  and  in  and  out 
He  turned  ;    but  still  the  pigtail  stout 
Hung  steadily  behind  him. 

And  though  his  efforts  never  slack. 
And  though  he  twist,  and  twirl,  and 

tack, 
Alas  !  still  faithful  to  his  back, 
The   pigtail  hangs   behind   him. 

Williain  Makepeace  Thackeray. 
(from  tic  German  of  Chamisso.) 


JOHN   BARIiEYCORN. 

There  were  three  kings  into  the  Ea.st, 
Three  kings  both  great  and  high  ; 

And  they  ha'e  sworn  a  solemn  oath, 
John  Barleycorn  should  die. 

They  took  a  plough  and  ploughed  him 
down. 

Put  clods  upon  his  head  ; 
And  they  ha'e  sworn  a  solemn  oath, 

John  Barleycorn  was  dead. 

But  the  cheerful  spring  came  kindly  on. 
And  showers  began  to  fall ; 

John  Barleycorn  got  up  again. 
And  sore  surprised  them  all. 

The  sultry  suns  of  summer  came. 
And  he  grew  thick  and  strong ; 

His  head  well  arm'd  wi'  pointed  spears, 
That  no  one  should  him  wrong. 

The  sober  autumn  entered  mild. 
And  he  grew  wan  and  pale  ; 

His  bending  joints  and  drooping  head 
Showed  he  began  to  fail. 

His  colour  sickened  more  and  more. 

He  faded  into  age ; 
And  then  his  enemies  began 

To  show  their  deadly  rage. 

They  ta'en  a  weapon  long  and  sharp. 

And  cut  him  by  the  knee. 
Then  tied  him  fast  upon  a  cart, 

Ijike  a  rogue  for  forgery. 


Humorous  Verse. 


251 


They  laid  him  down  upon  his  back, 
And  cudgelled  him  full  sore  ; 

They  hung  him  up  before  the  storm, 
And  turn'd  him  o'er  and  o'er. 

Tiiey  filled  up  then  a  darksome  pit 

With  water  to  the  brim, 
And  heaved  in  poor  John  Barleycorn, 

To  let  him  sink  or  swim. 

Tiiey  laid  him  out  upon  the  floor, 
'Jo  work  him  further  woe  ; 

And  still  as  signs  of  life  appeared. 
They  tossed  him  to  and  fro. 

They  wasted  o'er  a  scorching  flame 

The  marrow  of  his  bones  ; 
But  a  miller  used  him  worst  of  all — 

He  crushed  him  'tween  two  stones. 

And  they  have  taken  his  very  heart's 
blood, 
And  drunk  it  roinid  and  round  ; 
And    still    the    more    and    more    they 
drank, 
Their  joy  did  more  abound. 


Uobtrl  Burns. 


THE  PETEST  AND  THE 
MUIiBERRY-TREE. 

Did    you    hear    of    the    curate    who 

moimtfd  his  mare, 
And  merrily  trotted  along  to  the  fair  '! 
Of  creature  more  tractable  none  ever 

heard  ; 
In  the  height  of  her  speed  sh  •  would 

stop  at  a  word  ; 
But    again    with    a    word,    when    the 

curate  said  "  Hey  !  " 
She  put  forth  her  mettle  and  L'alloped 

away. 

As  near  to  the  gates  of  the  city  he  rode, 

While  the  sun  of  September  all  bril- 
liantly glowed, 

The  good  priest  discovered,  with  eyes 
of  desire, 

A  nuiiLerr3'-tree  in  a  hedge  of  wild 
bi  ier  ; 


On  boughs  long  and  lofty,  in  many  a 

green   shoot, 
Hung    large,    black,    and    glossy,    the 

beautiful  fruit. 

The  curate  was  hungry  and  thirsty  to 

boot ; 
He  shrunk  from  the  thorns,  though  he 

longed  for  the  fruit ; 
With  a  word  he  arrested  his  courser's 

keen  speed, 
And  he  stood  up  erect  on  the  back  of 

his  steed  ; 
On    the    saddle    he    stood    while    the 

creature  stood  still. 
And  he  gathcr'd  the  fruit  till  he  took 

his  good  till. 

"  Sure   never,"    he   thought,    "  was   a 

creature  so  rare, 
So    docile,    so    true,    as    my    excellent 

mare  ; 
Lo,  here  now  I  stand,"  and  he  gazed 

all  around, 
"  As  safe  and  as  steady  as  if  on  th(! 

ground  ; 
Yet  how  had  it  been,  if  some  traveller 

this  way. 
Had,  dreaming  no  mischief,  but  chanced 

to  cry  '  Hey  '  ?  " 

He  stood  with  his  head  in  the  mulberry- 
tree. 

And  he  spoke  out  aloud  in  his  fond 
reverie. 

At  the  sound  of  the  word  the  good 
mare  made  a  push. 

And  down  went  the  priest  in  the  wild- 
brier  bush, 

He  remember'd  too  late,  on  his  thorny 
green  bed. 

Much  that  well  may  be  thought 
cannot  wisely  be  said. 

I'homaa  Love  Peacock. 


THE  FAKENHAM  GHOST. 

A    BALLAD. 

The  lawns  were  dry  in  Euston  park : 
(Here  truth*  inspires  my  tale,) 

Th-  lonely  footpath,  still  and  dark. 
Led  over  hill  and  dale. 

»  Tliis  linlla.l  is  founded  on  f;ict. 


Poems   for  Children. 


Benighted   was  an  ancient  dame, 
And  fearful  haste  she  made 

To  gain  the  vale  of  Fakenham, 
And  hail  its  willow  shade. 

Her  footsteps  knew  no  idle  stops. 

But  followed  faster  still ; 
And  echoed  to  the  darksome  copse 

That  whispered  on  the  hill. 

Where   clamorous   rooks,   yet  scarcely 
hushed, 

Bespoke  a  peopled  shade  ; 
And  many  a  Aving  the  foliage  brushed. 

And  hovering  circuits  made. 

The  dappled   herd  of  grazing  deer, 
That  sought  the  shades  by  day, 

Now  started  from  their  paths  with  fear, 
And  gave  the  stranger  way. 

Darker  it  grew,  and  darker  fears 
Came  o'er  her  troubled   mind  ; 

When   now,    a    short,    quick   step  she 
hears, 
Come  patting  close  behind. 

81ic  turned,  it  stopped  ;    nought  could 
she  see 

Upon  the  gloomy  plain  ; 
But  as  she  strove  the  sprite  to  flee, 

She  heard  the  same  again. 

Now  terror  seized  her  quaking  frame. 
For,  where  her  path  was  bare. 

The  trotting  ghost  kept  on  the  same — 
She  muttered  many  a  prayer. 

Yet  once  again,  amidst  her  fright. 
She  tried  what  sight  could  do  ; 

When,  through  the  cheating  glooms  of 
night, 
A  MONSTER  !  stood  in  view. 

Regardless  of  whate'er  she  felt. 
It  followed  down  the  plain  ; 

She    owned    her    sins,    and    down   she 
knelt. 
And  said  her  prayers  again. 

Then  on  she  sped,  and  hope  grew  strong, 
The  white  park-gate  in  view  ; 

Which  pushing  hard,  so  long  it  swung, 
That  ghost  and  all  passed  through  ! 

Loud  fell  the  gate  against  the  post. 
Her  h  art-strings  like  to  crack ; 


For  much  she  feared  the  grisly  ghost 
Would  leap  upon  her  back. 

Still  on — pit — pat — the  goblin  went. 

As  it  had  done  before  : 
Her  strength  and  resolution  spent, 

She  fainted  at  the  door. 

Out  came  her  husband,  much  surprised, 
Out  came  her  daughter  dear ; 

Good-natured  souls  !  all  unadvised 
Of  what  they  had  to  fear. 

The  candle's  gleam  pierced  through  the 

night. 
Some  short  space  o'er  the  green  ; 
And   there  the  little  trotting  sprite 
Distinctly  might  be  seen. 

An  ass's  foal  had  lost  its  dam 
Within  the  spacious  park  ; 

And,   simple  as  a  playful  lamb. 
Had  followed  in  the  dark. 

No  goblin  he  ;  no  imp  of  sin  ; 

No  crimes  had  ever  known  ; — 
They  took  the  shaggy  stranger  in, 

And  reared  him  as  their  own. 

His  little  hoofs  would  rattle  round 

Upon  the  cottage  floor  ; 
The  matron  learned  to  love  the  sound 

That  frightened  her  before. 

A  favourite  the  ghost  became 
And  'twas  his  fate  to  thrive  ; 

And  long  he  lived,  and  spread  his  fame. 
And  kept  the  joke  aUve  ; 

For  many  alaugh went throughthe vale. 
And  some  conviction  too — 

Eaeli  thought  some  other  goblin  tale 
Perhaps  was  just  as  true. 

Robert  Bloomfidd. 


THE   HORKEY.» 

A   SUFFOLK    BAI.l.An. 

What  gossips  prattled  in  the  sun, 
Who  talk'd  him  fairly  down. 

Up,  memory  !  tell  ;    'tis  Suffolk  fun. 
And  lingo  of  their  own. 

*  The  Jlorkey  is  the  Suffolk  harvest-home 

feast. 


Humorous  Verse. 


2o3 


Ah  !    Jiulic  Twitchet !    though    thou'rt 
dead, 

With  thee  the  tale  begins  ; 
For  still  seem  thrumming  in  my  head 

The  rattling  of  thy  pins  ! 

Thou  Queen  of  knitters  ;   for  a  ball 

Of  worsted  was  thy  pride  ; 
With    dangling    stockings    great    and 
small 

And  world  of  clack  beside  ! 

We   did   so   laugh ;     the    moon   shone 
briglit  ; 
More  fun  you  never  knew  ; 
"  'Twas     Farmer     Cheerum'B     Horkey 
night, 
And  i,  and  Grace,  and  Sue — 

"  But  bring  a  stool,  sit  round  about, 

And  boys,  be  quiet,  pray  ; 
And  let  me  tell  my  story  out ; 

'Twas  sich  a  merry  day  ! 

"  The  bvitchcr  whistled  at  the  door. 
And  iMought  a  load  of  meat ; 

Boys   rubbd   their   hands,    and   cried, 
'  there's  more,' 
Dogs  wagg'd  their  tails  to  see't. 

"  On  went  the  boilers  till  the  hake* 
Had  much  ado  to  bear  'em  ; 

The  magpie  talk'd  for  talking  snke. 
Birds    sung; — but    who    could    hear 
'em? 

"  Creak  went  the  Jack  ;   the  cats  were 
scar'd, 

W'e  had  not  time  to  heed  'em. 
The  owd  bins  cackled  in  the  yard. 

For  we  forgot  to  feed  'em  ! 

"  Yet  'twas  not  I,  as  I  may  say. 

Because  as  how,  d'ye  see  ; 
I  only  helped  there  lor  the  day ; 

They  cou'dn't  lay't  to  me. 

"  Now  Mrs.  Cheerum's  best  lace  cap 
Was  mounted  on  her  head  ; 

Guests  at  the  door  began  to  rap. 
And  now    he  cloth  was  spr  ad. 

"  Then  clatter  went  the  earthen  plates— 
'  Mind  Judie,'  was  the  cry  ; 

•  Uuke,  sliding  pot-hook. 


1    could     have    cop't*    them    at    tlnir 
pates  ! 
'  Trenchers  for  me,'  said  I. 

"  '  That  look  so  clean  upon  the  ledge. 

And  never  mind  a  fall ; 
Nor  never  turn  a  sharp  knive's  edge  ; — 

But  fashion  rules  us  all.' 

"  Home  came  the  jovial  Horkey  load. 
Last  of  the  whole  year's  crop  ; 

And  Grace  amongst  the  green  boughs 
rode, 
Right  plump  upon  the  top. 

'■  This  way  and  that  the  waggon  reel'd, 
And  never  queen  rode  higher  ; 

Her  cheeks  were  colour'd  in  the  field. 
And  ours  before  the  fire. 

"  The  laughing  harvest-folks  and  John, 
Came  in  and  look'd  askew  ; 

'Twas  my  red  face  that  set  them  on. 
And  then  they  leer'd  at  Sue. 

"  And    Farmer    Cheerum    went,    good 
man. 

And  broach' d  the  Horkey  beer ; 
And  sitch  a  inortt"  of  folk  began 

To  eat  up  our  good  cheer. 

"  Says    he,    *  Thank    God    for    what's 
before  us  ; 

That  thus  we  meet  agen,' 
The  mingling  voices,  like  a  chorus, 

Joined  cheerfully,  '  Amen.' 

"  Welcome    and    plenty,    there    they 
found  'em 
The  ribs  of  beef  grew  light ; 
And  puddings— till  the  boys  got  round 
'em. 
And  then  they  vanish'd  quite  ! 

"  Now    all    the    guests    with    Farmer 
Crouder, 
Began  to  prate  of  corn ; 
And    we   found   out   they   talk'd    the 
louder. 
The  oft'ner  pass'd  the  horn, 

"  Out  came  the  nuts  ;  we  set  a  crackin    ; 

The  ale  came  round  our  way  ; 
My  word,  we  women  fell  a  clacking. 

As  loud  again  as  they. 

»  Copl  is  Suffolk  for  tlirown. 
t  Sitch  It  nio;-/— such  a  number. 


254 


A  oems   for  Children. 


"  John  sung  '  Old  Benbow,'  loud  and 
strong. 

And  I,  '  The  Constant  Swain.' 
'  Cheer  up,  my  Lads,'  was  Simon's  song, 

'  We'll  conquer  them  again  !  ' 

"  Now  twelve  o'clock  was  drawing  nigh. 

And  all  in  merry  cue  ; 
I  knock'd  the  cask,  '  O,  ho  !  '  said  I, 

'  We've  almost  conquered  you  !  ' 

"  My    Lord*    begg'd    round,  and  held 
his  hat. 
Says  Farmer  Gruff,  says  he, 

*  There's  many  a  Lord,  Sam,  I  know 

that. 
Has  begg'd  as  well  as  thee.' 

"  Bump  in  his  hat  the  shillings  tumbl'd 
All  round  among  the  folks  ; 

•  Laugh  if  you   wool,'   said   Sam  and 

mumbl'd, 
'  You  pay  for  all  your  jokes.' 

'*  Joint   stock,  you    know,  among  the 
men. 

To  drink  at  their  own  charges  ; 
So  up  they  got  full  drive,  and  then 

Went  to  halloo  largess.  1" 

"  And  sure  enough  the  noise  they  made  ! 

But  let  me  mind  my  tale  ; 
We  foUow'd  them,  we  worn't  afraid. 

We  'ad  all  been  drinking  ale. 

"  As  they  stood  hallooing  back  to  back. 

We,  lightly  as  a  feather. 
Went  sliding  round,  and  in  a  crack 

Had  pinn'd  their  coats  together. 

"  'Twas  near  upon  t  as  light  as  noon 

'  A  Largess,'  on  the  hill, 
They  shouted  to  the  full  round  moon — 

I  think  I  hear  them  still  ! 

"  But  when  they  found  the  trick,  my 
stars  ! 

They  well  knew  who  to  blame, 
Our  giggles  turn'd  to  ha,  ha,  ha's  ! 

And  arter  ua  they  came. 

"  Grace  by  the  tumbril  made  a  squat, 
Then  ran  as  Sara  came  by ; 

Ti  ey  said  she  could  not  run  for  fat ; 
I  know  she  did  not  try. 

•  My  Lord— the  leader  of  the  reapers. 
t  To  halloc  largess— to  make  s  frolio. 


"  Sue  round  the  neat-house*  squalhng 
ran, 

Where  Simon  scarcely  dare ; 
He  stopt, — for  he's  a  fearful  man — 

'  My  word  !  there's  suffen  f  there  !  ' 

"  And  off  set  John,  with  all  his  might, 
To  chase  me  down  the  yard. 

Till  I  was  nearly  gran'df  outright ; 
He  hugg'd  so  woundly  hard. 

"  Still  they  kept  up  the  race  and  laugh. 
And  round  the  house  we  flew  ; 

But,  hark  \'e  !  the  best  fun  by  half 
Was  Simon  arter  Sue. 

"  She  car'd  not,  dark  nor  light,  not  she. 

So  near  the  dairy  door 
She  pass'd  a  clean  white  hog,  you  see, 

They'd  kilt  the  day  before. 

"  High  on  the  spirket||  there  it  hung, — 
'  Now,  Susie — what  can  save  ye  ?  ' 

Round  the  cold  pig  his  arms  he  flung. 
And  cried,  '  Ah  !  here  I  have  ye  !  ' 

"  The  farmers  heard  what  Simon  said. 
And  what  a  noise,  good  lack  ! 

Some    almost    laugh'd    themselves    to 
dead. 
And  others  clapt  his  back 

"  We  all  at  once  began  to  tell 
What  fun  we  had  abroad  ; 

But  Simon  stood  our  jeers  right  well ; 
He  fell  asleep  and  snor'd. 

"  Then  in  his  button-hole  upright. 

Did  Farmer  Crouder  put 
A  slip  of  paper  twisted  tight, 

And  held  the  candle  to't. 

"  It  smok'd    and  smok'd  beneath  his 
nose. 

The  harmless  blaze  crept  higher 
Till  with  a  vengeance  up  he  rose, 

'  Grace,  Judie,  Sue  !  fire,  fire  ! ' 

"  The  clock  struck  one — some  talk'd 
of  parting. 
Some  said  it  was  a  sin. 
And   hitch'd   their  chairs  ;     but  those 
for  starting 
Now  let  the  moonlight  in. 

•  Neat-house — cowhouse. 

t  iS(t/ffn— something. 

j  Gran'rf— striincrlecl. 
H  Sjiirtet—t^n  iron  book. 


Humorous   Verse. 


255 


"  Owd  women,  loitering  for  the  nonce,* 
Stood   praising   the   line   weather  ; 

Tlic  nienfolks  took  the  hint  at  once, 
To  kiss  them  altogether ; 

"  And  out  ran  every  soul  beside, 

A  siianny  pated  !   crew  ; 
Owd  folks  could  neither  run  nor  hide, 

So  some  ketched  one,  some  tew  ; 

"  Tlipy  skriggl'df  and  began  to  scold, 
Bui  laughing  got  the  master ; 

Some   quacklingsj   cried,  '  let  go  your 
hold  !  ' 
The  farmers  held  the  faster. 

*'  All  innocent,  that  I'll  be  sworn. 
There  worn't  a  bit  of  sorrow, 

And  women,  if  their  gowns  are  torn. 
Can  mend  them  on  the  morrow 

"  Our  shadows  helter  skelter  danc'd 
About  the  moonlight  ground  ; 

Tlie  wandering  sheep,  as  on  we  pranc'd, 
Ciot  up  and  gaz'd  around. 

"  And    well    they    might-  -till    Farmer 
Cheerum, 

Now  with  a  hearty  glee. 
Ha  'c  all  good  morn  as  he  came  near  'em. 

And  then  to  bed  went  he. 

"  Then   off  we  stroll'd  this   way  and 
that. 

With  merry  voices  ringing  ; 
And  Echo  answered  us  right  fat. 

As  home  we  rambled  singing. 

"  For  when  we  laugh'd,  it  laugh'd  again, 
And  to  our  own  doors  foUow'd  ! 

'  Yn,  ho  !  '  we  cried  ;  '  Yo,  ho ! '  so  plain 
'Liic  misty  meadows  halloo'd. 

"  That's  all  my  tale,  ami  all  thf>  lun  ; 

Come,  tu  n  your  wheels  about ; 
My  worsted,  see  !— that's  nicely  done. 

Just  held  my  story  out !  " 

Poor  Judie  ! — thus  time  knits  or  spins 
The  worsted  from  Life's  ball  ! 

D.a  h  slopt  thy  tales,  and  stopt  thy 
ins, 
\nd  so  he'll  serve  us  all. 

Robert  BloumfiM. 


•  Nonce — purpose, 
t  Si?-!";//"'/— struiigled 
J  Qi«(M7</(yi- giddy  oa< 


THE  DIVEBTING  HISTORY  OF 
JOHN  GIIiPIN. 

SHOWING  HOW  HK  WENT  FAKTIIKK  THAN 
HE  INTENDED,  AND  CAME  SAFE  HUME 
AGAIN. 

John  Gilpin  was  a  citizen 

Of  credit  and  renown, 
A  train-band  captain  eke  wis  he. 

Of  famous  London  town. 

John  Gilpin's  spouse  said  to  her  dear, 
"Though  wedded  we  have  been 

These  twice  ten  tedious  years,  yet  wc 
No  holiday  have  seen. 

"To-morrow  is  our  wedding-day, 

And  we  will  then  repair 
Unto  the  Bell  at  Edmonton, 

All  in  a  chaise  and  pair. 

"  My  sister,  and  my  sister's  child. 

Myself  and  children  three 
Will  fill  the  chaise  ;    so  you  must  ride 

On  horseback  after  we." 

He  soon  replied,  "I  do  admire 

Of  womankind  but  one. 
And  you  are  she,  my  dearest  dear. 

Therefore  it  shall  be  done. 

"I  am  a  linen-draper  bold. 
As  all  the  world  doth  know. 

And  ray  good  friend  the  calender, 
Will  lend  his  horse  to  go" 

Quoth  Mrs.  Gilpin,  "  That's  well  said  ; 

And  for  that  wine  is  dear, 
We  will  be  furnished    with  our  own. 

Which  is  both  bright  and  clear." 

John  Gilpin  kiss'd  his  loving  wife  ; 

O'er  joyed  was  he  to  find. 
That,  though  on  pleasure  she  was  bent. 

She  had  a  frugal  mind. 

The    morning    came,    the    chaise    was 
brought 

But  yet  was  not  allow'd 
To  drive  up  to  the  door,  lest  all 

Should  say  that  she  was  proud. 

So  three  doors  off  the  chaise  was  stay'd. 
Where  they  did  all  get  in  ; 

Six  precious  souls,  and  all  agog 
To  dash  through  thick  and  thin. 


256 


Poems   for  Children. 


Smack  went  the  whip,    oiincl  went  the 
wheels, 

Were  never  folk  so  glad  ; 
The  stones  did  rattle  underneath. 

As  if  Cheapside  were  mad. 

John  Gilpin  at  his  horse's  side 
Seized  fast  the  flowing  mane, 

And  up  he  got,  in  haste  to  ride. 
But  soon  came  down  again  ; 

For  saddl  -tree  scarce  reach'd  had  he. 

His  journey  to  begin. 
When  turning  round  his  head  he  saw 

Three  customers  come  in. 

80  down  he  came  ;  for  loss  of  time. 
Although  it  grieved  him  sore, 

Yet  loss  of  pence,  luU  well  he  knew. 
Would  trouble  him  much  more. 

'Twas  long  before  the  customers. 

Were  suited  to  their  mind, 
■  When    Betty  '  screaming    came    down 
stairs, 
"  The  wine  is  left  behind  !  " 

"  Good  lack  !  "  quoth  he  ;  "  yet  bring 
it  me, 

My  leathern  belt  likewise. 
In  which  I  bea:  my  trusty  sword. 

When  I  do  exercise." 

Now,  Mistress  Gilpin  (careful  soul !) 
Had  two  stone  bottles  found. 

To  hold  the  liquor  that  she  loved, 
And  keep  it  safe  and  sound. 

Each  bottle  had  a  curling  ear, 
Through  which  the  belt  he  drew. 

And  hung  a  bottle  on  each  side 
To  make  his  balance  true. 

Then  over  all,  that  he  might  be 

Equipp'd  from  top  to  toe. 
His  long  red  cloak,  well  brush'd  and 
neat, 

He  manfully  did  throw. 

Now  see  him  mounted  once  again 

Upon  his  nimble  steed. 
Full    lowly  pacing  o'er  the  stones. 

With  caution  and  good  heed. 

But  finding  soon  a  smoother  road 

Benea  h  his  well-shod  feet, 
The  snorting  beast  began  to  trot, 

Which  gall'd  him  in  his  seat. 


So  fair  and  softly,  John  he  cried. 
But  John  he  cried  in  vain  ; 

That  trot  became  a  gallop  «oon, 
In  spite  of  curb  and  rein. 

So  stooping  down,  as  needs  he  must. 

Who  cannot  sit  upright, 
He  grasp'd   tha   mane   with   both   his 
hands. 

And  eke  with  all  his  might. 

Hi-i  horse,  who  never  in  that  sort 
Had  handled  been  before,- 

What  thing  upon  his  back  had  got 
Did  wonder  more  and  more. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  neck  or  naught ; 

Away  went  hat  and  wig  ; 
He  little  dreamt,  when  he  set  out. 

Of  running  such  a  rig. 

The  wind  did  blow,  the  cloak  did  iiy 
Like  streamer  long  and  gay. 

Till,  loop  and  button,  failing  both. 
At  last  it  flew  away. 

Then  might  all  people  well  discern 
The  bottles  he  had  slung  ; 

A  Ijottlc  swinging  at  each  side. 
As  hath  been  said  or  sung. 

The     dogs     did     bark,     the     children 
scream'd. 
Up  fl  w  the  windows  all ; 
And    every    sou      cried    out,    "  Well 
done  !  " 
As  loud  as  he  could  bawl. 

Away  went  Gilpin — who  but  ho 
His  fame  soon  spread  around  ; 

He  carries  weight !  he  riiles  a  raco 
'Tis  for  a  thousand  pound  ! 

And  still  as  fast  as  h^lrew  near, 

'Twas  wonderful  to  view. 
How  in  a  trice  the  turnpike  men 

Their  gates  wide  open  tlirew. 

And  now  as  he  went  bowing  down 

His  reeking  head  full  low. 
The  bottles  twain  behind  his  back 

Were  shatter'd  at  a  blow. 

Down  ran  the  wine  into  the  road. 

Mot  piteous  to  be  se.ni, 
Which  made  his  horse's  flanks  to  smoke. 

As  they  had  ba-sted  been. 


Humorous  Verse. 


2j7 


But  still  he  socm'd  to  cany  weight 
With  leathern  girdle  braced  ; 

For  all  might  see  the  bottle-necks, 
Still  dangling  at  his  waist. 

Thus  all  through  merry  Islington 
Those  gambols  he  did  play, 

Until  he  came  unto  the  W^ash 
Of  Edmonton  so  gay  ; 

And  there  he  threw  the  wash  about 

On  both  sides  of  the  waj', 
.lu-st  like  unto  a  trundling  mop, 

Or  a  wild  goose  at  play. 

At  Edmonton  his  loving  wifp 

From  the  balcony  espied 
Her  tender  husband,  wondering  much 

To  see  how  he  did  ride. 

"  Stop,  stop,  John  Gilpin  !  here's  the 
house !  " 

They  all  aloud  did  cry  ; 
"  The  dinner  waits,  and  we  are  tired  "  ; 

Said  Gilpin,  "  So  am  I  !  " 

But  yet  his  horse  was  not  a  whit 

Inclined  to  tarry  there  ; 
For  why  ?  his  owner  had  a  house 

Full  ten  miles  off,  at  Ware. 

So,  like  an  arrow  swift  he  flew. 
Shot  by  an  archer  strong  ; 

So  did  he  li}'— which  brings  me  to 
The  middle  of  my  song. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  out  of  breath, 

And  sore  against  his  will. 
Till  at  his  friend  the  calender's. 

His  horse  at  last  stood  still. 

ri»e  calender,  amazed  to  see 
His  neighbour  in  such  trim. 

Laid  down  his  pipe.  Hew  to  the  gate. 
And  thu ;  accosted  him : 

"  What     news  ?     what     news  ?     your 
tidings  tell  ! 

Tell  me  you  must  and  shall — 
Say  why  bareheaded  you  are  come. 

Or  why  you  come  at  all  ?  " 

Now  Gilpin  had  a  pleasant  wit, 

.•\nd  loved  a  timely  joke  ; 
And  thus  unto  the  calender 

In  merry  guise  he  spok   : 


"  I  came  because  your  horse  would  come. 

And,  if  I  will  forbode. 
My  hat  and  wig  will  souu  be  here  ; 

Thy  are  upon  the  road." 

The  calender,  right  glad  to  find 

His  friend  in  merry  pin, 
Rcturn'd  him  hot  a  single  word. 

But  to  the  house  went  in. 

When  straight  he  came  with  hat  and 
wig; 

A  wig  that  flowed  behind  ; 
A  hat  not  much  the  worse  for  wear, 

Each  comely  in  its  kind. 

He  held  them  up,  and  in  his  turn 
Thus  showed  his  ready  wit : 

"  My  head  is  twice  as  big  as  yours  . 
They  therefore  needs  must  fit. 

"  But  lei  me  scrape  the  dirt  away 
That  hangs  upon  your  facu  ; 

Aufl  stop  and  eat,  for  well  you  may 
Be  in  a  hungry  case." 

Said  John,  "  It  is  ray  wedding-day. 
And  all  the  world  would  stare. 

If  wife  should  dine  at  Edmonton, 
And  I  should  dine  at  Ware." 

So,  turning  to  hi-*  horse,  he  said  : 

"  I  am  in  haste  to  dine  ; 
'Twas  for  your  pleasure  you  came  here. 

You  shall  go  back  for  mine." 

Ah  I  luckless  speech,  and  bootless  boast 
For  which  he  paid  full  dear  : 

For.  whil.'  he  spake,  a  braying  ass 
Did  ring  most  loud  and  clear  ; 

Wiiereat  his  horse  did  snort,  as  he 

Had  heard  a  lion  roar. 
And  g  dlop'd  off  with  all  his  might, 

As  he  had  done  before. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  and  away 
Went  Gilpin's  hat  and   wig  ! 

He  lost  them  sjoner  than  tli  ■  fi-st; 
For  why  ? — they  were   too  big. 

Now,  Mistress  Gilpin,  when  she  saw 
Her  husband  posting  down 

Into  th,"  country  far  away. 
She  puU'd  out  half  a  crown  ; 

^7 


258 


Poems   for  Children 


And  thus  unto  the  youth  she  said. 
That  drove  them  to  the  Bd\, 

"  This  shall  be  yours,  when  you  bring 
back. 
My  husband  safe  and  well." 

The  youth  did  ride,  and  soon  did  meet 
John  coming  back  amain  ; 

Whom  in  a  trice  lie  tried  to  stop 
By  catching  at  his  rein  ; 

But  not  performing  what  he  meant. 
And  gladly  would  have  done, 

The  frighted  steed  he  frighted  more. 
And  made  him  faster  run. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  and  away 
Went  postboy  at  his  heels  ; 

The  postboy's  horse  right  glad  to  miss 
The  lumbering  of  the  wheels. 

Six  gentlemen  upon  the  road, 

Thus  seeing  Gilpin  fly, 
With  postboy  scampering  in  the  rear, 

They  raised  the  hue  and  cry : 

"  Stop  thief  !  stop  thief  !   a  highway- 
man !  " 

Not  one  of  them  was  mute  ; 
And  all  and  each  that  pass'd  that  way 

Did  jOin  in  the  pursuit. 

And  now  the  turnpike  gates  again 

Flew  open  in  short  space  ; 
The  toll-men  thinking  as  before 

That  Gilpin  ran  a  race. 

And  so  he  did,  and  won  it  too, 
For  he  got  first  to  town  ; 
Nor  stopp'd  till  where  he  had  got  up 
He  did  again  get  down 

Now  let  us  sing,  long  live  the  King  I 
And  Gilpin,  long  live  he  1 


And,  when  he  next  doth  ride  abroad. 
May  I  be  there  to  see  ! 

William  Cowper. 


FIVE   NONSENSE   VERSES. 

BY   EDWARD    LEAR. 

There  was  an  Old  Man  with  a  beard, 
who  said,  "  It  is  just  what  I  feared  ! 
Two  Owls  and  a  Hen,  four  Larks  and 
a  Wren, 

Have   all    built   their   nests   in 
my  beard  !  " 

There  was  an  Old  Man  in  a  tree,  who 
was  horribly  bored  by  a  bee  ; 
When  they  said,  "  Does  it  buzz  ?  " 
he  replied,   "  Yes,  it  does  ! 
It's  a  regular  brute  of  a  bee  !  " 

There  was  an  Old  Man  in  a  boat,  who 
said,  "  I'm  afloat !  I'm  afloat !  " 
When  they  said,  "  No  you  ain't !  " 
he  was  ready  to  faint. 

That  unhappy  old  man  in  a  boat. 

There  was  an  Old  Man  with  a  poker,  who 
painted  his  face  with  red  ochre  ; 
When  they  said,  "  You're  a  Guy  !  " 
he  made  no  reply. 

But  knocked  them  all  down  with 
his  poker. 

There  was  an  Old  Man  who  said, "Hush ! 
I   perceive   a   young   bird   in   this 
bush  !  " 
When  they  said,  "  Is  it  small  ?  "  he 
rephed,  "  Not  at  all ! 

It   is   four  times  as  big  as  the 
bushl" 


THE    FATHERLAND. 


I 


THE    HERITAGE. 

The  rich  man's  son  inherits  lanch, 
And  piles  of  brick,  and  stones,  and 
gold, 

And  he  inherits  soft,  white  hands. 
And  tender  flesh  that  fears  the  cold, 
Nor  dares  to  wear  a  garment  old  ; 

A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me. 

One  scarce  would  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 

The  rich  man's  son  inherits  cares  : 
The  bank   may    break,    the   factory 
burn, 
A  breath  may  burst  his  bubble   shares. 
And  soft  white  hands  could  hardly 

earn 
A  living  that  would  serve  his  turn  ; 
A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me. 
One  scarce  would  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 

The  rich  man's  son  inherits  wants 
His  stomach  craves  for  dainty  fare  ; 

With  sated  heart,  he  hears  the  pants 
Of  toiling  hinds  and  brown  arms  bare. 
And  wearies  in  his  easy  chair  ! 

A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me. 

One  scarce  would  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 

What  doth  the  poor  man's  son  inherit  ? 
Stout  muscles  and  a  sinewy  heart, 

A  hardy  frame,  a  hardier  spirit. 

King  of  two  hands,  he  does  his  part 
la  every  useful  toil  and  art ; 

A  lieritage,  it  seems  to  me, 

A  king  might  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 

What  doth  the  poor  man's  son  inherit  ? 

Wishes  o'erjoyed  with  humble  things, 
A  rank  adjudged  by  toil-worn  merit. 

Content     that     from     employment 
springs, 

A  heart  that  in  his  labour  sings  ; 
A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 
A  king  might  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 


What  doth  the  poor  man's  son  inherit  ? 

A  patience  learned  of  beijig  poor. 
Courage,  if  sorrow  come,  to  bear  it, 

A  fellow-feeling  that  is  sure 

To  make  the  outcast  bless  his  door  ; 
A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 
A  king  might  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 

O  rich  man's  son  !   there  is  a  toil 
That  with  all  others  level  stands  ; 

Large  charity  doth  never  soil. 

But  only  whiten,  soft  white  hands, — 
This  is  the  best  crop  from  thy  lands  ; 

A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me. 

Worth  being  rich  to  hold  in  fee. 

O  poor  man's  son  !  scorn  not  thy  state  ; 
There  is  worse  weariness  than  thine 

In  merely  being  rich  and  great : 
Toil  only  gives  the  soul  to  shine. 
And  makes  rest  fragrant  and  benign  ; 

A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me. 

Worth  being  poor  to  hold  in  fee. 

Both,  heirs  to  some  six  feet  of  sod. 
Are  equal  in  the  earth  at  last ; 
Both,  children  of  the  same  dear  God, 
Prove  title  to  your  heirship  vast 
By  record  of  a  well-filled  past ; 
A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me. 
Well  worth  a  life  to  hold  in  fee. 

James  Russdl  Loivell. 


THE  HAPPIEST  LAND. 

FROiM    THK    GERMAN 

There  sat  one  day  in  quiet. 
By  an  alehouse  on  the  llhine. 

Four  hale  and  hearty  fellows 
And  drank  the  precious  wine. 

The  landlord's  daughter  fill'd  their  cups. 
Around  the  rustic  board  ; 

17* 


2G0 


Poems  for  Children. 


Then  sat  they  all  so  calm  and  still, 
And  spake  not  one  rude  word. 

But  when  the  maid  departed, 
A  Swabian  raised  his  hand, 

And  cried,  all  hot  and  flushed  with  wine, 
"  Long  live  the  Swabian  land  ! 

"  The  greatest  kingdom  upon  earth 
Cannot  v.'ith  that  compare  ; 

With  all  the  stout  and  hardy  men. 
And  the  nut-brown  maidens  there." 

"  Ha  !  "  cried  a  Saxon,  laughing. — 
And  dashed  his  beard  with  Mine, — 

"  I  had  rather  live  in  Lapland, 
Than  that  Swabian  land  of  thine  ! 

"  The  goodliest  land  on  all  this  earth, 

It  is  the  Saxon  land  ! 
There  have  I  as  many  maidens 

As  fingers  on  this  hand  !  " 

"  Hold  your  tongues  !    both  Swabian 
and  Saxon  !  " 

A  bold  Bohemian  cries  ; 
"  If  there's  a  heaven  upon  this  earth. 

In  Bohemia  it  lies. 

"  There  the  tailor  blows  the  flute, 
And  the  cobbler  blows  the  horn, 

And  the  miner  blows  the  bugle. 
Over  mountain  gorge  and  bourn." 

And  then  the  landlord's  daughter 
Up  to  heaven  raised  her  hand. 

And  said,  "  Ye  may  no  more  contend, — 
Tiiere  lies  the  happiest  land  !  " 

Henry    Wadsworth   Lon'jjuUoiv. 


THE    FATHERIjAND. 

Where  is  the  true  man's  fatherland  ? 

Is  it  where  he  by  chance  is  born  ? 

Doth  not  the  yearning  spirit  scorn 
In  such  scant  borders  to  be  spanned 
Oh  yes  !    his  fatherland  must  be 
.As  the  blue  heaven,  wide  and  free  ! 

Is  it  alone  where  freedom  is. 

Where  God  is  God  and  man  is  niaii  .' 
Dotli  he  not  claim  a  broader  span 


For  the  sours  love  of  home  than  this  T 
Oh  yes  !   his  fatherland  must  be 
As  the  blue  heaven  wide  and  free  ! 

Where'er  a  human  heart  doth  wear 
Joy's     myrtle-wreath     or     sorrow's 

gyves. 
Where'er  a  human  spirit  strives 
After  a  hfe  more  true  and  fair. 
There   is   the   true   man's    birth  place 

grand. 
His  is  the  world-wide  fatherland  ! 

Where'er  a  single  slave  doth  pine. 
Where'er      one      man      may     help 

another, — 
Thank    God    for   such    a    birthright, 
brother, — 
That  spot  of  earth  is  thine  and  mine  ! 
There   is    the   true   man's    birthplace, 

grand. 
His  is  a  world-wide  fatherland  ! 

James  Eiissell  Lowell. 


THE  WANDERER'S  SONG. 

Hurrah  !    for     merry     England,       no 

longer  will  I  roam, 
But  pray  the  winiis  will  swiftly  blow 

the  vessel  towards  home  : 
I    oft    have    been    on    foreign    shores, 

exploring  far  and  wide. 
With  empty  purse,  anil  not  a  friend  my 

wand'ring  steps  to  guide. 

By  land  and  sea,  by  night  and  day,  I've 

(_  v'ry  danger  shared 
And  tiio'  full  many  my  escapes,  as  yet 

I  have  been  spared. 
I've  crossctl  the  seas'- when  hurricanes 

have  swejjt  along  the  main. 
And  been  'mongst  those  who  bravely 

fought  upon  the  battle  plain. 

O'er  Afric's  burning  sands  I've  toiled 

and  trod  Norwegian's  snows, 
And    Lapland's    forests,    Spain's    oli\o 

woods,    and    where    the    palm    iv<  e 
grows  ; 
But    farther   as   I    journey'd  on,  each 

feeling  of  my  breast. 
Was   bound  to   <lear  old    England,  the 

country  I  love  best. 


The   Fatherland. 


261 


I  love  my  foiinlry  and  my  king,  their 

glory  is  my  priue. 
That  urged  my  arm  when  fighting  by 

my  comrades  side  by  side  ; 
And  now  that  I'm  returned  again,  no 

more  to  be  a  ranger, 
Tho'  long  since  I  have  left  my  home,  I 

shall  not  feel  a  stranger. 

They'll  find  me  altered,  for  I  left   my 

home  in  bloom  of  youth  ; 
But    then    they    shall    not    find    me 

changed  in  honour  or  in  truth. 
Then    hurrah  !      for    merry    England, 

no  longer  will  I  roam. 
But  pray  the  winds  will  swiftly  blow 

the  vessel  towards  home. 


AGTNCOURT. 

Agincourt,  Agincourtl 
Know  ye  not  Agincourt, 
Where  Englisli  slew  and  hurt 

All  their  French  foemeu  r 
^^'ith  their  pikes  and  bills  hroun. 
How  the  French  were  beat  doun. 

Shot  by  our  Bowmen  ? 

Agincourt,  Agincourt ! 
Know  ye  not  Agincourt, 
Kiiillish  of  every  sort. 

High  men  and  low  men, 
Fought  that  day  wondrou^^  well. 
All  our  stories  tell. 

Thanks  to  our  Bowmen ! 

Agincourt,  Agincourt ! 
Know  ye  not  Agincourt  ? 
Where  our  fifth  Harry  taught 

Frenchmen  to  know  men  : 
And,  when  the  day  was  done. 
Thousands  there  fell  to  one 

Good  English  Bowman  1 


THE    TRAVEIiliEE'S    RETURN". 

Sweet  to  the  morning  traveller 

The  song  amid  the  sky, 
Where,  twinkling  in  the  dewy  light. 

The  skylark  soars  on  high. 


And  cheering  to  the  traveller 
The  gales  that  round  liim  play. 

When  faint  and  heavily  he  drags, 
Along  his  noontide  way. 

And  when  beneath  th'  uncloudeti  sun 

Full  wearily  toils  he, 
The  flowing  wat«r  makes  to  him 

A  soothing  melody. 

And  when  the  evening  light  decays 

And  all  is  calm  around, 
There  is  sweet  music  to  his  ear 

In  the  distant  sheep-bell's  sound. 

But,  oh  !  of  all  dehghtful  sounds 

Of  evening  or  of  moni, 
The  sweetest  is  the  voice  of  love 

That  welcomes  his  return. 

Robert   Southey. 


THE  UNREGARDED   TOIIiS 
OF  THE  POOR. 

Alas  !    what  secret  tears  are  shed. 
What  wounded  spirits  bleed  ; 

What  loving  hearts  are  sundered, 
And  yet  man  takes  no  heed  ! 

He  goeth  in  his  daily  course. 

Made  fat  with  oil  and  wine. 
And  pitieth  not  the  weary  souls 

That  in  his  bondage  pine. 
That  turn  for  him  the  mazy  wheel. 

That  delve  for  him  the  mine  ! 
And  pitieth  not  the  children  small 

In  noisy  factories  dim. 
That  all  day  long,  lean,  pale  and  faint. 

Do  heavy  tasks  for  him  ! 

To  him  they  are  but  as  the  stones 

Beneath  his  feet  that  lie  ; 
It  entereth  not  his  thoughts  that  they 

From  him  claim  sympathy  : 
It  entereth  not  his  thoughts  that  God 

Heareth  the  sufferer's  groan. 
That  in  His  righteous  eye,  their  life 

Is  precious  as  his  own. 

Mary   Iluwitt. 


262 


Poems  for  Children. 


FOR   A'   THAT,    AND    A'   THAT. 

Is  there,  for  honest  poverty, 

That  hangs  his  head,  and  a'  that  ? 
The  coward  slave,  we  pass  him  by. 
And  dare  be  poor  for  a'  that ! 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that ! 

Our  toils  obscure,  and  a'  that  ; 

The  rank  is  but  the  guinea  stamp  ; 

The  man's  the  gowd  for  a'  that. 

What  the'  on  hamely  fare  we  dine. 
Wear  hodden-grey,  and  a'  that ; 
Gie  fools  their  silks,  and  knaves  their 
wine, 
A  man's  a  man,  for  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 

Their  tinsel  show,  and  a'  that. 
The  honest  man,  the'  ne'er  sae  poor. 
Is  king  o'  men  for  a'  that. 

You  see  yon  birkie,  ca'd  a  lord, 

Wha  struts,  and  stares  and  a'  that ; 
Tho'  hundreds  worship  at  his  word. 
He's  but  a  coof  for  a'  that ; 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 

His  riband,  star  and  a'  that. 
The  man  of  independent  mind 
He  looks  and  laughs  at  a'  that. 

A  king  can  make  a  belted  knight, 

A  marquis,  duke  and  a'  that ; 
But  an  honest  man's  aboon  his  might, 
Guid  faith  he  maunna  fa'  that ! 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 

Their  dignities,  and  a'  that. 
The   pith  o'   sense,   and   pride   o' 
worth. 
Are  higher  ranks  than  a'  that. 

Then  let  us  pray  that  come  it  may. 

As  come  it  will  for  a'  that, 
Tliat  sense  and  worth,  o'er  a'  the  earth, 
May  bear  the  giee,  and  a'  that ; 
For  a  that,  and  a'  that, 

It's  coming  j'et,  for  a'  that ; 
That  man  to  man,  the  warld  o'er. 
Shall  brothers  be  for  a'  that. 
Mobert  Burns. 


Returns  to  deck  their  hallowed  mould. 
She  there  shall  dress  a  sweeter  sod 
Than  Fancy's  feet  have  ever  trod. 

By  fairy  hands  their  knell  is  rung  ; 
By  forms  unseen  their  dirge  is  sirng  ; 
There  Honour  comes,  a  pilgrim  gray. 
To  bless  the  turf  that  wraps  their  clay  ; 
And  Freedom  shall  await  repair 
To  dwell  a  weeping  hermit  there. 

WiUiam  Collins. 


TBTJE  GREATNESS. 

The  fairest  action  of  our  human  hfe 
Is  scorning  to  revenge  an  injury  ; 

For  who  forgives  without  a  further  strife 
His  adversary's  heart  to  him  doth  tie  ; 

And  'tis  a  firmer  conquest  truly  said 

To  win  the  heart,  than  overthrow  the 
head. 

If  we  a  worthy  enemy  do  find. 

To  yield  to  worth,  it  must  be  nobly 
done  : — 

But  if  of  baser  metal  be  hia  mind. 
In  base  revenge  there  is  no  honour 
won. 

Who    would    a   worthy    courage   over- 
throw ? 

And  who  would  wrestle  with  a  worth- 
less foe  ? 

We  say  our  hearts  are  great,  and  cannot 
yield  ; 
Because  they  cannot  yield,  it  proves 
them  poor  ; 
Great  hearts  are  task'd   beyond  their 
power  but  seld  ; 
The  weakest  lion  will  the  loudest  roar. 
Truth's    school    for    certain    does    this 

same  allow, 
High-heartedness  doth  sometimes  teach 
to  bow. 

Lady  Elizabeth  Carew. 


HOW  SIiEEP  THE  BRAVE. 

How  sleep  the  Brave  who  sink  to  rest 
By  all  their  country's  wishes  best ! 
When  Spring,  with  dewy  fingers  cold, 


THE   DESTRUCTION    OP 

SENNACHERIB. 

The  Assyrian  came  down  like  the  wolf 

on  the  fold. 
And    his    cohorts    were    gleaming    in 
purple  and  gold  : 


The   Fatherland. 


2G3 


I 


And  the  sheen  of  their  spears  was  like 

stars  on  the  sea, 
Wiien  the  bhic  wave   rolls   nightly  on 

deep  Galilee. 

Like    the    leaves    of    the    forest  when 

Summer  is  green. 
That  host  with  their  banners  at  sunset 

were  seen  : 
Like   the   leaves   of   the    forest   when 

Autumn  hath  flown, 
That  host  on  tlie  morrow  lay  withered 

and  strown. 

For   the   Angel    of    Death   spread   his 

wings  on  the  blast. 
And   breathed   in   tlic   face  of  the   foe 

as  he  passed  ; 
And   the   eyes   of  the  sleepers   waxed 

deadly  and  chill, 
And  their  hearts  but  onoe  heaved,  and 

for  ever  gi-ew  still. 

And  there  lay  the  steed  with  his 
nostril  all  wide. 

But  through  it  there  rolled  not  the 
breath  of  his  pride  ; 

And  the  foam  of  his  gasping  lay  white 
on  the  turf. 

And  cold  as  the  spray  of  t'.ie  rock- 
beating  surf. 

And  there  lay  the  rider  distorted  and 

pale. 
With  the  dew  on   his   brow,   and    the 

rust  on  his  mail  ; 
And    the    tents    were    all    silent,    the 

banners  alo:u'. 
The     lances     unlifted,     the     trumpet 

unblown. 

And   the   widows  of    Ashur    are    loud 

in  their  wail, 
And  the  idols  are  bj-oke  in  tlie  temple 

of   Baal  ; 
And  the  might  of  the  Gentile,  unsmote 

by  the  sword. 
Hath  melted  like  snow  in  the  glance 

of  the  Lord  j 

Lord  Byron. 


VVliere  grew  the  arts  of  war  and  peace — 
Where    Delos    rose,    and    Phoebus 
sprung  ! 
Eternal  summer  gilds  them  yet, 
But  all  except  their  sun  is  set. 

The  Scian  and  the  Teian  muse. 
The  hero's  hai'p,  the  lover's  lute. 

Have    found    the    fame    your   shores 
refuse  ; 
Their  place  of  birth  alone  is  mute 

To  sounds  which  echo  further  west 

Than  your  sires'  "  Islands  of  the  Blest." 

The  mountains  look  on  Marathon — 
And  JIarathon  looks  on  the  sea  ; 

And  musing  there  an  hour  alone, 
I  dreamed  that  Greece  might  still  be 
free  : 

For  standing  on  the  Persians'  grave, 

I  could  not  deem  myself  a  slave. 


Lord  Byron. 

ENGLAND. 
I. 

This     royal     throne     of     Kings,     this 

sceptred  isle. 
This    eartli    of    majesty,    this    seat    of 

Mars, 
This   other    Rden,   demi-paradise  ; 
This     fortress,     built     by     nature     for 

herself. 
Against    infection    and     the    hand  of 

war  ; 
This  happy   breed   of  men,   this   little 

world  : 
This   precious  stone   set  in   the   silver 

sea, 
Wliioh  serves  it  in  the  otHce  of  a  wall, 
Or  as  a  moat  defensive  to  a  house. 
Against     the     envy     of     less     happier 

lands. 
This    blessed     plot,    this    earth,    tliis 

realm,  this  England. 

William  Shakespeare. 


THE    ISLE    OF   GREECE. 
The  isles  of  Greece,  the  isles  of  Greece  ! 
Where    burning    Sappho    loved    and 
suny. 


ENGLAND. 

IL 

This  England    never   did,    nor   never 

shall. 
Lie  at  the  proud  foot  of  a  con(|ueror 


264 


Poems  for  Children. 


But  when  it  first  did  help  to  wound 

itself. 
Now  these  her  princes  are  come  home 

again, 
Come  the  three  corners  of  the  world 

in  arms 
And   we   shall   shock   them:     Naught 

shall  make  us  rue, 
If  England  to  itself  do  rest  but  true. 

William  Shakespeare. 


THE  NAME   OF   ENGIiAND. 

The  trumpet  of  the  battle 

Hath  a  high  and  thrilling  tone  ; 

And  the  firsfdeep  gun  of  an  ocean  fight 
Dread  miisic  all  its  own. 

But  a  mightier  power,   my  England  ! 

Is  in  that  name  of  thine. 
To  strike  the  fiie  from  every  heart 

Along  the  banner'd  line. 

Proudly  it  woke  the  spirits 
Of  yore,  the  brave  and  true, 

When  the  bow  was  bent  on  Crcssy's 
field, 
And  the  yeoman's  arrow  flew. 

And  proudly  hath  it  floated 
Through  the  battles  of  the  sea, 

When   the   red-cross   flag   o'er  smoke- 
wreaths  play'd. 
Like  the  lightning  in  its  glee. 

On  rock,  on  wave,  on  bastion, 
Its  echoes  have  been  known  ; 

By    a    thousand    streams    the    hearts 
lie  low. 
That  have  answered  to  its  tone. 

A  thousand  ancient  mountaina 
Its  pealing  note  hath  stirr'd  ; 

Sound  on,  and  on,  for  evermore, 
O   thou   victorious   word  ! 

Felicia  Dorothea  Remans. 


THE  ENQIilSH   BOY. 

Look  from  tlie  ancient  mountains  down, 

My  noble  P^iglish  boy  ! 
Thy  country's  fields  around  thee  gleam 

In  sunlight  and  in  joy. 


Ages  have  rolled  since  foeman's  march 
Passed  o'er  that  old,  firm  sod  ; 

For  well  Ihe  land  1  aMi  fealty  held 
To  freedom  and  to  God  ! 

Gaze  proudly  on,   my  English  boy  ! 

And  let  thy  kindling  mind 
Drink  in  the  spirit  of  free  thought 

From  every  chainless  mind  ! 

There,  in  the  shadow  of  old  Time, 

The  halls  beneath  thee  lie 
Which  poured  forth  to  the  fields  of  yore 

Our  England's  chivalry. 

How  bravely  and  how  solemnly 
They  stand,  midst  oak  and  yew  ! 

Whence  Cressy's  yeomen  haply  framed 
The  bow,  in  battle  true. 

And  round  their  walls  the  good  swords 
hang 
Whose  faith  knew  no  alloy. 
And  shields  of  knighthood,  pure  from 
stain  : 
Gaze  on,  my  English  boy  ! 

Gaze  where  the  hamlet's  ivied  church 
Gleams  by  the  antique  elm, 

Or  where  the  minster  lifts  the  cross 
Hi^h  through  the  air's  blue  realm. 

Martyrs  have  showered  their  free  heart's 
blood 
That  England's  prayer  might  rise, 
From  those  grey  fanes  of  thoughtful 
years, 
Unfettered  to  the  skies. 

Along  their  aisles,  beneath  their  trees, 
This  earth's  most  glorious  dust. 

Once  fired  with  valour,  wisdom,  song. 
Is  laid  in  holy  trust. 

Gaze  on — gaze  farther,  farther  yet — 

My  gallant  English  boy  ! 
Yon  blue  sea  bears  thy  country's  flag. 

The  billows'  pride  and  joy. 

Those   waves   in    many   a   fight   have 
closed 

Above  her  faithful  dead  ; 
That  red-crossed   flag   victoriously 

Hath  floated  o'er  their  bed. 

They  perished — this  green  turf  to  keep 
By  hostile  tread  unstained. 


The   Fatherland. 


2fi5 


Those  knightly  halls  inviolate. 
Those  churches  unprofaned. 

And    high    and    clear  their    memory's 
light 

Along  our  shore  is  set. 
And  many  an  answering  beacon  fire 

Shall  there  be  kindled  yet ! 

Lift  up  thy  hearts,  my  English  boy  ! 

And  TpTBiy,  like  them  to  stand, 
Should  God  so  summon  thee,  to  guard 

The  altars  of  the  land 

Felicia  Dorothea  Hevians. 


««I    TRAVELLED     AMONG 
UNKNOWN    MEN." 

I  TRAVELLED  amoiig  Unknown  men, 

In  lands  beyond  the  sea  ; 
Nor,  England  !    did  I  know  till  then 

What  love  I  bore  to  thee. 

'Tis  past,  that  melanchoh^  dream  | 

Nor  will  I  quit  thy  shore 
A  second  time  :    for  still  I  seem 

To  love  thee  more  and  more. 

Among  the  mountains  did  I  feel 

The  joy  of  my  desire  ; 
And  she  I  cherished  turned  her  wheel 

Beside  an  English  fire. 

Thy     mornings     showed,     thy    nights 
concealed 

The  bowei-s  where  Lucy  played  : 
And  thine,  too,  is  the  last  green  field 

That  Lucy's   eye   surveyed. 

William  Wordsworth. 


HOME   THOUGHTS   FROM 
ABROAD. 

Oh  !    to  be  in  England 

Now  that  April's  there. 
And  whoever  wakes  in  England 

Sees,   some    morning,   unaware. 
That  the  lowest  boughs  and  the  brush- 
wood sheaf 
Round   the  elm-tree  bole  are  in   tiny 
leaf. 


While    the    chafTinch 

orchard  bough 
In  England — now  ! 


sings     on     the 


And  after  April,  when  May  follows, 
And    the   whitethroat   builds,    and    all 

the  swallows — 
Hark  !    where  my  blossomed  pear-tree 

in  the  hedge 
I-eans  to  the  field  and  scatters  on 

the  clover 
Blossoms  and  dew-drops — at  the  bent 

spray's   edge — ■ 
That's  the  wise  thrush  ;  he  sings  each 

song  twice  over, 
Lest  you  should  think  he  never  could 

recapture 
The  first  fine  careless  rapture  ! 
And  though  the  fields  look  rough  with 

hoary  dew, 
All  will  be  gay  when  noon-tide  wakes 

anew 
The    buttercups,    the    little    children's 

dower, 
— Far  brighter  than  thie  gaudy  melon- 

liower. 

JRohert  Browning. 


HOME    THOUGHTS    FROM 
THE    SEA. 

Nobly,  nobly  Cape  Saint  Vincent  to 

the  north-west  died  away  ; 
Sunset    ran,    one    glorious    blood-red, 

reeking  into  Cadiz  Bay  ; 
Bluish  mid  the  burning  water,  full  in 

face  Trafalgar  lay ; 
In    the   dimmest   north-east   distance, 

dawned  Gibraltar  grand  and  gay  ; 
"  Here  and  here  did  England  help  me — 

How  can  I  help  England  ?  ' — say, 
Whoso  turns  as  I,  this  evening,  turn 

to  God  to  praise  and  pray. 
While  Jove's  planet  rises  yonder,  silent 

over  Africa. 

Jiobtrt  Broii  n  ing. 


MEN  OF  ENGLAND. 

Men  of  England  !    who  inherit 

Rights    that    cost    your    sires    their 
blood  ! 

Men  whose  undegenerate  spirit 
Haa  been  proved  on  field  and  flood. 


266 


Poems   for   Children. 


By  the  foeB  ye've  foiiglit  uncounted, 
By  the  glorious  deeds  j'eVe  done. 

Trophies  captured — breaches  mounted. 
Navies  conquer'd — kingdoms  won  ! 

Yet,  remember,  England  gathers 
Hence  but  fruitless  wreaths  of  fame. 

If  the  patriotism  of  your  fathers 
(ilow  not  in  your  hearts  the  same. 

What  are  monuments  of  bravery, 
Where  no  public    virtues  bloom  ? 

Wliat  avail  in  lands  of  slavery. 
Trophied  temples,  arch,  and  tomb  ? 

I'ageants  ! — Let  the  world  revere  us 
For  our  peo}ile's  rights  and  laws. 

And  the  breasts  of  civic  heroes 
Bared  in  freedom's  holy  cause. 

Yours  are  Hampden's,  Russell's  glory, 
Sidney's  matchless  shade  is  youi's — 

Martyrs  in  heroic  story. 

Worth  a  hundred  Agincourts  | 

We're  the  sons  of  sires  that  baffled 
Crown'd  and  mitred  tyranny, 

Tl.ey  defied  the  field  and  scaffold 
For  their  birthrights — so  will  we  ! 

Thomas  CampbeM. 


The  blessed  homes  of  England  ! 

How  softly  on  tlieir  liowers 
Is  laid  the  holy  quietness 

That  breathes  from  Sabbath  hours  ! 
Solemn,    yet    sweet,    the    church-bell's 
chime 

Floats  through  their  wood?  at  morn  ; 
All  other  sounds,  in  that  still  time. 

Of  breeze  and  leaf  are  born. 

The  cottage  homes  of  England  ! 

By  thousands  on  her  plains. 
They  are  smiling  o'er  the  silvei  y  brooks. 

And  round  the  hamlets  fanes. 
Through  glowing  orchards   forth  they 
peep. 

Each  from  its  nook  of  leaves  ; 
And  fearless  there  the  lowly  sleep. 

As  the  bird  beneath  their  eaves. 

The  free,  fair  homes  of  England  ! 

Long,  long,  in  hut  and  hall 
May  hearts  of  native  proof  be  reared 

To  guard  each  hallowed  wall  ! 
And  green  for  ever  be  the  groves, 

And  bright  the  flowery  sod, 
Wliere  first  the  child's  glad  spiiit  loves 

Its  country  and  its  Cod  ! 

Felicia  Dorothea  Remans. 


THE  HOMES  OF  ENGLAND. 

The  stately  homes  of  England  ! 

How  beautiful  they  stand, 
Amidst  their  tall  ancestral  trees, 

O'er  all  the  pleasant  land  ! 
The  deer  across  their  greensward  bound 

Througli  shade  and  sunny  gleam, 
And   the  swan  glides  past  them   with 
the  sound 

Of  some  rejected  stream. 


TE   GENTLEMEN  OF 
ENGLAND. 

Ye  gentlemen  of  England 

That  live  at  home  in  ease 
Ah  !  little  do  you  think  upon 

The  dangers  of  the  seas. 
(Jive  ear  unto  the  mariners. 

And  they  will  plainly  show 
All  tile  cares  and  all  the  fears 

When  the  stormy_  winds  do  blow. 

When  the  stormy  winds  do  blow 


The  merry  homes  of  England  ! 

Around  their  hearths  by  night 
What  gladsome  looks  of  household  love 

Meet  in  the  ruddy  light  ! 
Tliere    woman's    voice    flows    forth    in 
song. 

Or  childish  tale  is  told. 
Or  lips  move  tunefully  along 

Some  glorious  page  of  old. 


If  enemies  oppose  us 

When  England  is  at  war 

With  any  foreign  nation, 

We  fear  not  wound  nor  scar ; 

Our  roaring  guns  shall  teach  'em 
Our  valour  for  to  know 

Whilst  they  reel  on  the  kneel, 
And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow 
And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 


The   Fatherland. 


2f)7 


Then  couraf^o  all   brave  niariiur.s. 

And  never  he  dismayed  ; 
While  we  have  bold  adventurers. 

We  ne'er  shall  want  a  trade : 
Our  nien^hants  will  employ  us 

To  fetch  them  wealth  we  know ; 
Then  be  bold — work  for  gold. 

When  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

When  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

Martyn   Parker. 


YE  MABINERS  OF  ENQIiAND. 

Ye  Mariners  of  England  ! 

That  guard  our  native  seas  ; 
Whose  riag    has    braved,    a    thousand 
years. 

The  battle  and  the  breeze  ! 
Your  glorious  standard  launch  again 
To  match  another  foe  ! 
And  sweep  through  the  deep. 
While  the  stormy  winds  do  blow  ; 
While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long. 
And  the  stormy  tempests  blow. 

The  spirits  of  your  fathers 

Shall  start  from  every  wave  ! — 
From  the  deck  it  was  their  field  of  fame, 

And  Ocean  was  their  grave  : 
Where  Blake  and  mighty  Nelson  fell. 
Your  manly  hearts  shall  glow. 
As  ye  sweep  through  the  deep, 
While  the  stormy  tempests  blow ; 
While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long. 
And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

Britannia  needs  no  bulwark, 
No  tow  ers  along  the  steep  : 
Her  march  is  o'er  the  mountain-waves. 

Her  home  is  on  the  deep. 
With  thunders  from  her  native  oak. 
She  quells  the  floods  below, — 
As  they  roar  on  the  shore. 
When  the  stormy  tempests  blow : 
When  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long. 
And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

The  meteor  flag  of  England 

Shall  yet  terrific  burn  ; 
Till  danger's  troubled  night  depart, 

And  the  star  of  j)eace  return. 
Then,  then,  ye  ocean-warriors  I 
0;'r  song  and  fea;l  shall  flow 
To  the  fame  of  your  name. 


When  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow  ; 
When  the  fiery  fight  is  heard  no  more. 
And  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow. 

Thomas  Campbdl. 


GOD    SAVE   THE  KING 

Odd  save  our  gracious  Kinj, 
Long  hve  our  noble  King, 

(iod  save  the  King  ! 
Send  him  victorious, 
Happy  and  glorious. 
Long  to  reign  over  us, 

God  save  the  King  ! 

O  Lord  our  God  arise. 
Scatter  his  enemies, 

And  make  them  fall. 
Confound  their  pohtics, 
Frustrate  their  knavish  tricks  ; 
On  Thee  our  hearts  we  tix, 

God  save  us  all  ! 

Thy  choicest  gifts  in  store. 
On  him  be  pleased  to  pour. 

Long  may  he  reign. 
May  he  defend  our  laws. 
And  ever  give  us  cause. 
To  sing  with  heart  and  voice, 

God  save  the  King  ! 

Henry  Carey. 


RULE    BRITANNIA. 

When  Britain  first  at  Heaven's  com- 
mand. 

Arose  from  out  the  azure  main. 
This  was  the  charter  of  her  land. 

And  guardian  angels  simg  the  strain  : 

Rule    Britannia !    Britannia    rules    the 
waves  ! 
Britons  never  shall  be  slaves. 

The  nations  not  so  blest  as  thee. 

Must  in  their  turns  to  tyra   ta  fall. 
Whilst  thou  shalt  flourish  great  ana  free. 

The  dread  and  envy  of  them  all. 

Still  more  majestic  shalt  thou  rise. 
More    dreadful    from    each    foreign 
stroke  ; 


268 


Poems  for  Children. 


As  the  loud  blast  that  tears  the  skies 
Serves  but  to  root  thy  native  oak. 

Thee  haughty  tyrants  ne'er  shall  tame  ; 

All  their  attempts  to  bend  thee  down 
Will  but  arouse  thy  generous  flame. 

And  work  their  woe  and  thy  renown. 

To  thee  belongs  the  riu-al  reign  ; 

Thy  cities  shall  with  commerce  shine  ; 
All  thine  shall  be  the  subject  main. 

And  every  shore  it  circles  thine  ! 

The  Muses  still,  vrith  Freedom  found, 
Shall  to  thy  happy  coast  repair  ; 

Blest     Isle,    with     matchless     beauty 
crowned, 
And  manly  hearts  to  guard  the  fair  : 

Rule   Britannia !    Britannia   rules   the 
waves  ! 
Britons  never  shall  be  slaves. 

James  Thomson. 


BOADICEA. 

AN  ODE. 

When  the  British  warrior  queen. 
Bleeding  from  the  Roman  rods. 

Sought,  with  an  indignant  mien. 
Counsel  of  her  country's  gods ; 

Sage  beneath  a  spreading  oak 
Sat  the  Druid,  hoary  chief  ; 

Every  burning  word  he  spoke 
Full  of  rage,  and  full  of  grief. 

Princess  !   if  our  aged  eyes 

Weep  upon  thy  matchless  wrongs, 
'Tis  because  resentment  ties 

All  the  terrors  of  our  tongues. 

Rome  shall  perish — write  that  word 
In  the  blood  that  she  has  spilt ; 

Perish,  hopeless  and  abhorr'd. 
Deep  in  ruin  as  in  guilt. 

Rome,  for  empire  far  renown'd. 
Tramples  on  a  thousand  states  ; 

Soo  1  her  pride  shall  kiss  the  ground- 
Hark  !  the  Gaul  is  at  her  gates  ! 

Other  Romans  shall  arise. 
Heedless  of  a  soldier's  name ; 


Sounds,  not  arms,  shall  win  the  prize. 
Harmony  the  path  to  fame. 

Then  the  progeny  that  springs 
From  the  forests  of  our  land, 

Arm'd  with  thimder,  clad  with   wings. 
Shall  a  wider  world  command. 

Regions  Caesar  never  knew 

Thy  posterity  shall  sway  ; 
Where  his  eagles  never  flew. 

None  invincible  as  they. 

Such  the  bard's  prophetic  words. 
Pregnant  with  celestial  fire. 

Bending  as  he  swept  the  chords 
Of  his  sweet  but  awful  lyre. 

She,  with  all  a  monarch's  pride. 
Felt  them  in  her  bosom  glow  ; 

Rush'd  to  battle,  fought,  and  died  ; 
Dying  hurl'd  them  at  the  foe  ; 

Ruffians,  pitiless  and  proud, 

Heaven  awards  the  vengeance  due  ; 

Empire  is  on  us  bestowed, 
Shame  and  ruin  wait  on  you. 

William  Cowper, 


HE   NEVER  SMIIiED  AGAIN. 

The  bark  that  held  a  prince  went  down, 

The  sweeping  waves  rolled  on  ; 
And  what  was  England's  glorious  crown 

To  him  that  wept  a  son  ? 
He  hved — for  life  may  long  be  borne. 

Ere  sorrow  break  its  chain  ; — 
Why  comes  not  death  to  those  who 
mourn  ? 

He  never  smiled  again  ! 

There   stood   proud   forms   before   his 
throne. 

The  stately  and  the  brave ; 
But  which  could  fill  the  place  of  one,  - 

That  one  beneath  the  wave  ? 
Before  him  passed  the  young  and  fair. 

In  pleasure's  reckless  train  ; 
But  seas  dashed  o'er  his  son's  bright 
hair — 

He  never  smiled  again  ! 

He  sat  where  festal  bowls  went  round  ; 
He  beard  the  minstrel  sing ; 


The   Fatherland. 


269 


He  saw  the  tourney's  victor  crowned 
Amidst  the  knightly  ring; 

A  murmur  of  the  restless  deep 
Was  blent  with  every  strain, 

A  voice  of  winds  that  would  not  sleep- 
He  never  smiled  again  ! 

Hearts,  in  that  time,  closed  o'er  the 
trace 

Of  vows  once  fondly  pom-ed. 
And  strangers  took  the  kinsman's  place 

At  many  a  joyous  board  ; 
Graves,    which  true   love   had   bathed 
with  tears, 

\\'crc  left  to  heaven's  bright  rain. 
Fresh  hopes  were  born  for  other  years — 

lie  never  smiled  again  ! 

Felicia  Dorothea  Hemaiu. 


THK  AEMADA. 
Attend,  all  ye  who  list  to  hear  our 

noble  England's  praise  ; 
I  sing  of  the  thrice  famous  deeds  she 

wrought  in  ancient  days, 
When     that     great     fleet     invincible, 

against  her  bore,  in  vain. 
The  richest  spoils  of  Mexico,  the  stoutest 

hearts  in  Spain. 

It  was  about  the  lovely  close  of  a  warm 

summer's  day, 
There  came   a  gallant  merchant  ship 

full  sail  to  Plymouth  bay  ; 
The  crew  had  seen  Castile's  black  fleet, 

bej'ond  Aurigny's  isle, 
At  earliest  twihght,  on  the  waves,  lie 

heaving  many  a  mile. 
At  suiuise  she  escaped  their  van,   i>v 

(Jod's  especial  grace  ; 
And  the  tall  Pinta,  till  the  noon,  hatl 

lield  her  close  in  chase, 
i'orthwith  a  guard,  at  every  gun,  was 

})laced  along  the  wall ; 
I  lie   beacon   blazed   upon   the  roof  of 

Edgecombe's  lofty  hall ; 
Many  a  light  fishing  bark  put  out,  to 

pry  along  the  coast ; 
And  with  loose  rein,  and  bloody  spur, 

rode  inland  many  a  post. 

With  his  white  hair,  unbonueted,  th« 
stout  old  sheriff  comes, 


Behind    liiiu    march    the    halbenlicrs, 

before  him  sound  the  drums  : 
The  yeomen,  round  the  market  cross, 

make  clear  and  ample  space. 
For  there  behoves  him  to  set  up  the 

standard  of  Her  Grace  : 
And  haughtily  the  trumpets  peal,  and 

gaily  dance  the  bells, 
As  slow  upon  the  labouring  wind  the 

royal  blazon  swells. 
Look  how  the  Hon  of  the  sea  lifts  up 

his  ancient  crown, 
And  underneath  his  deadly  paw  treads 

the  gay  hlies  down  ! 
So  stalked  he  when  he  turned  to  flight, 

on  that  famed  Picard  field, 
Bohemia's   plume,   and   Genoa's   bow, 

and  Caesar's  eagle  shield  : 
So  glared  he  when,  at  Agincourt,  in 

wrath  he  turned  to  bay. 
And      crushed      and      torn,     beneath 

his    claws,     the    princely     hunters 

lay. 
Ho !     strike    the    flagstaff    deep,     sir 

knight !    ho  !    scatter    flowers,     fair 

maids  ! 
Ho,  gunners  !  fire  a    loud  salute  !  ho, 

gallants  !  draw  your  blades  ! 
Thou,  sun,  shine  on  her  joyously  !  y  ■ 

breezes,  waft  her  wide  ! 
Our  glorious  semper  eadem  !  the  banner 

of  our  pride  I 

The  fiesh'ning  breeze  of  eve  imfurled 

that  banner's  massy  fold — 
The  parting  gleam  of  sunshine  kissed 

that  haughty  scroU  of  gold  : 
Night  sunk  upon  the  dusky  beach,  and 

on  the  purple  sea  ; 
Such  night  in  England  ne'er  had  been, 

nor  ne'er   again  shall  be. 
From   Eddystone  to  Ber\vick  bounds, 

from  Lynn  to  ililford  Bay, 
That  time  of  slumber  was  as  bright, 

as  busy  as  the  day ;  * 

For  swift  to  east,  and  swift  to  west,  the 

warning  radiance  spread — • 
High  on  St.  Michael's  Mount  it  shone — 

it  shone  on  Beachy  Head  : 
Far  o'er  the  deep  the  Spaniard  saw, 

along  each  southern  shire, 
Cape   beyond  cape,   in  endless   range, 

those  twinkling  points  of  fire. 
The    fisher    left   his   skiff    to    rook   on 

Tamar's  glittering  waves. 
The  rugged  miners  poured  to  war,  from 

Mendip's  sunless  caves ; 


•270 


Poems  for  Children. 


O'er  Longleat's  towers,  or  Cranbourne's 

oaks,  the  fiery  herald  tlew. 
And  roused   the   shepherds   of    Stone- 

henge — tlie  rangers  of  BeauHeu. 
Kight  sharp  and  quick  the  bells   rang 

out  all  night  from  Jiristol  town  ; 
And,  ere  the  day,  three  hundred  horse 

had  met  on  Clifton  Down. 

The  sentinel  on  Whitehall  gate  looked 

forth  into  the  night. 
And  saw  o'erhanging  Richmond  Hill, 

that  streak  of  blood-red  hght : 
The  bugle's  note,   and  cannon's  roar, 

the  death-hke  silence  broke, 
And  with  one  start,  and  with  one  cry, 

the  royal  city  woke  ; 
At  once,  on  all  her  stately  gates,  arose 

the  answering  fires  ; 
At  once  the  wild  alarum  clashed  from  all 

her  reeling  spires  ; 
From   all   the   batteries  of  the  Tower 

pealed  loud  the  voice  of  fear. 
And  all  the  thousand  masts  of  Thames 

sent  back  a  louder  cheer : 
And  from  the  farthest  wards  was  heard 

the  rush  of  hurrying  feet. 
And   the   broad   streams   of  flags   and 

pikes    dashed    down    each    rousing 

street : 

And   broader  still  became   the   blaze, 

and  louder  still  the  din, 
As  fast  from  every  village  round  the 

horse  came  spurring  in  ; 
And  eastward  straight,  for  wild  Black- 
heath,  the  warlike  errand  went ; 
And  roused,  in  many  an  ancient  hall, 

the  gallant  squires  of  Kent : 
Southward,  for  Surrey's  pleasant  hills, 

flew  those  bright  coursers  forth  ; 
High  on   black  Hampstead's  swarthy 

moor,  they  started  for  the  north  ; 
And    on,    and    on,    without    a    pause, 

unfilled  they  bounded  still ; 
All   night   from   tower   to   tower   they 

sprang,  all  night  from  hill  to  hill ; 
Till  the  proud  peak  unfurled  the  flag 

o'er  Derwent's  rocky  dales  ; 
Till,  like    volcanoes,  flared    to    heaven 

t?.e  stormy  hills  of  Wales  ; 
Till,  twelve  fair  counties  saw  the  blaze 

on  Malvern's  lonely  height ; 
Till  streamed  in  crimson,  on  the  wind, 

the  Wrekin's  crest  of  hght ; 
Till,    broad   and  fierce,   the  star  came 

forth,  on  Ely's  stately  fane. 


And  town  and  hamlet  rose  in  arms,  o'er 

all  the  boundless  plain  ; 
Till  Belvoir's  lordly  towers  the  sign  to 

Lincoln  sent. 
And  Lincoln  sped  the  message  on,  o'er 

the  wide  vale  of  Trent  ; 
Till  Skiddaw  saw  the  lire  that  burnt  on 

(haunt's  embattled  pile. 
And  the  red  glare  on  Skiddaw  roused 

the  burghers  of  Carlisle. 

Lord  Macaiday. 


A  CAVAI.IEB,  SON"&. 

Boot,  saddle,  to  horse,  and  away  ! 
Ilescue  my  castle  before  the  hot  day 
Brightens  to  blue  from  its  silvery  grey, 
(Chorus)    Boot,   saddle,    to    horse 
and  away  ! 

Ride  past  the  suburbs,  asleep  as  j'ou'd 

say  ; 
Many's   the   friend    there,    will     listen 

and  pray 
"  Cod's  luck  to  gallants  that  strike  up 
the  lay, 

(Chorus)  Boot,    saddle,    to  horse, 
and  away  !  " 

Forty  miles  off,  like  a  roebuck  at  bay. 
Flouts  Castle  Brancepeth,  the  Round- 
heads' array  ; 
Who  laughs,  "  Good  fellows,  ere  this,  by 
ray  fay, 

((.'horus)  Boot,    saddle,    to    horse, 
and  away  ?  " 

Who  ?     My  wife  Gertrude ;  that  honest 

and  gay, 
Laughs  wiien  you  talk  of  surrendering, 

"  Nay  ! 
I've  better  counsellors  ;    what  counsel 
they  ? 

(Chorus)  Boot,    saddle,    to    horse, 
and  away  !  " 

Robert  Browning. 


BEFORE   BATTLE. 

The  signal  to  engage  shall  be 

A  whistle  and  a  hollo  ; 
Be  one  and  all  but  firm,  like  me. 

And  conquest  sooa  will  follow  ! 


The   Fatherland. 


271 


» 


You,  dnnne],  keep  your  holm  in  hand — 

Tims,    thus,    l)oys  !  stead}',  stead}' 
Til!   right  ahead   you   see   the   land, — 
Then  soon  as  we  are  ready, 

— The  signal  to  engage  shall  be 

A  whistle  and  a  hollo  ; 
Be  OQC  and  all  hut  firm,  like  me. 
And  conquest  soon  will  follow  ! 

Keep,  boys,  a  good  look  out,  d'ye  hear  ? 

'Tis  for  Old  England's  honour  ; 
Just  as  you  brought  your  lower  tier 
Broad -side  to  bear  upon  her, 
— The  signal  to  engage  shall  be 

A  whistle  and  a  hollo  ; 
Be  one  and  all  but  firm,  like  me. 
And  conquest  soon  will  follow  ! 

All  hands  then,  lads,  the  ship  to  clear; 

Load  all  your  gims  and  mortars ; 
Silent  as  deatli  th'  attack  prepare  ; 
And,  when  you're  all  at  quarters, 
— The  signal  to  engage  shall  be 

A  whistle  and  a  hollo  ; 
Be  one  and  all  but  firm,  like  me. 
And  conquest  soon  will  follow  ! 

Charles  Dibdin. 


THE  BURIAIi  OP  SIR  JOHN 
MOORE  AT  CORXJNNA.  1809. 

Not  a  drum  was  heard,  not  a  funeral 
note, 
As   his   corpse   to   the   rampart   we 
hurried  ; 
Not  a  soldier  discharged  his  farewell 
shot, 
O'er  the  grave  where  our  hero  we 
buried. 

We  buried  him  darkly,  at  dead  of  night. 
The  sods  with  our  bayonets  turning  ; 

By  tlie  struggling   moonbeam's    misty 
light. 
And  the  lantern  dimly  burning. 

No  useless  coffin  enclosed  his  breast, 
Not  in  sheet  nor  in  shroud  we  wound 
him  ; 

But  he  lay  like  a  warrior  taking  his  rest. 
With  his  martial  cloak  around  him. 

Few   and   short   were   the   prayers    we 
said. 


And  we  spoke  not  a  word  of  sorrow  ; 
But  we  steadfastly  ga/ud   on   the  face 

that  was  deatl. 
And  we  bitterly  thought  of  the  morrow . 

We  thought,  as  we  hollowed  his  narrow 
bed. 
And  smoothed  down  his  lonely  pillow  . 
That  the  foe  and   the  stranger  would 
tread  o'er  his  head. 
And  we  far  away  on  the  billow  ! 

Lightly  they'll  talk  of  the  spirit  that's 
gone, 
And    o'er    his    cold    ashes    upbraitl 
him  ; — 
But  little   he'll  reck,   if  they  let  him 
sleep  on. 
In  the  grave  where  a  Briton  has  laid 
hiu). 

But  half  of  our  heavy  task  was  done 
When  the  clock  struck  the  hour  for 
retiring  ; 
And  we  heard  the  distant  and  random 
gun 
That  the  foe  was  sullenly  firing. 

Slowly  and  sadly  we  laid  him  down. 
From  the  field  of  his  fame  fresh  and 
gory; 
We  carved  not  a  line,  and  we  raised 
not  a  stone — 
But  we  left  him  alone  with  his  glory  ! 

Hev,  Charlis  Wolfe. 


THE    OFFICERS    GRAVE. 

There  is  in  the  wide  lone  sea, 
A  spot  unmark'd  but  holy  ; 

For  there  the  gallant  and  the  free 
In  his  ocean- bed  lies  lowly. 

Down,  down,  within  the  deep 
That  oft  to  triumph  bore  him. 

He  sleeps  a  sound  and  pleasant  sleep 
With  the  salt  waves  dashing  o'er  him. 

He  sleeps  serene  and  safe 

From  tempest  or  from  billow. 

Where  the  stornis  that  high  above  him 
chafe 
Scarce  rocK  his  peaceful  pillow. 


272 


Poems  for  Children. 


The  sea  and  him  in  deatli 
Tliey  did  not  dare  to  sever  ; 

It  was  his  home  while  he  had  breath  ; 
'Tis  now  his  rest  for  ever  ! 

Sleep  on,  thou  mighty  dead  ! 

A  glorious  tomb  they've  found  thee 
The  broad  blue  sky  above  thee  spread  : 

The  boundless  waters  round  thee. 

Eev.  Henry  Francis  Lyte, 


There  came  a  burst  of  thunder  sound — 
The  boy — oh  !   where  was  he  ? 

Ask  of  the  winds  that  far  around 
With  fragments  strewed  the  sea, 

With  mast,  and  helm,  and  pennon  fair. 
That  well  had  borne  their  part ; 

But  the  noblest  thing  that  perished  there 
Was  that  young  faithful  heart. 

Felicia  Dorothea  Hemans. 


CASABIANCA", 

The  boy  stood  on  the  burning  deck. 
Whence  all  but  him  had  fled  ; 

The  flame  that  lit  the  battle's  wreck. 
Shone  round  him  o'er  the  dead. 

Yet  beautiful  and  bright  he  stood, 
As  born  to  rule  the  storm ; 

A  creature  of  heroic  blood, 

A  proud,  though  childlike  form. 

The  flames  roU'd  on — he  would  not  go 

Without  his  father's  word  ; 
That  father,  faint  in  death  below, 

His  voice  no  longer  heard. 

He  call'd  aloud — "  Say,  father,  say 

If  yet  my  task  be  done  !  " 
He   knew  not  that  the   chieftain   lay 

Unconscious  of  his  son. 

"  Speak,  father  !  "  once  again  he  cried, 

"  If  I  may  yet  be  gone  !  " 
And  but  the  booming  shots  replied. 

And  fast  the  flames  roll'd  on. 

Upon  liis  brow  he  felt  their  breath, 

And  in  his  waving  hair  ; 
And  look'd  from  that  lone  post  of  death. 

In  still,  yet  brave  despair ; 

And  shouted  but  once  more  aloud, 
"  My  father  !    must  I  stay  ?  " 

While  o'er  him  fast,  through  sail  and 
shroud, 
The  wreathing  fires  made  way. 

They  wrapt  the  ship  in  splendour  wilil, 
They  caught  the  flag  on  high. 

And  stream'd  above  the  gallant  child. 
Like  banners  in  the  sky. 


ON  THE  LOSS  OF  THE  EOYAL 
aEOBQE. 

WRITTEN     WHEN     THE     NEWS    ARRIVED 
SEPTEMBER,    1782. 

Toll  for  the  brave  ! 

Tlie  brave  that  are  no  more  } 
All  sunk  beneath  the  wave. 

Fast  by  their  native  shore  ! 

Eight  hundred  of  the  brave, 
Whose  courage  well  was  tried. 

Had  made  the  vessel  heel. 
And  laid  her  on  her  side. 

A  land  breeze  shook  the  shrouds. 

And  she  was  overset  ; 
Down  went  the  Royal  George, 

With  all  her  crew  complete. 

Toll  for  the  brave  ! 

Brave  Kempenfelt  is  gone ; 
His  last  sea  fight  is  fought ; 

His  work  of  glory  done. 

It  was  not  in  the  battle  ; 

No  tempest  gave  the  shock ; 
She  sprang  no  fatal  leak  ; 

She  ran  upon  no  rock. 

His  sword  was  in  its  slieath  ; 

His  fingers  held  the  pen. 
When  Kempenfelt  went  down. 

With  twice  four  hundred  men. 

Weigh  the  vessel  up. 

Once  dreaded  by  our  foes  ! 
And  mingle  with  our  cup 

The  tear  that  England  owes. 

Her  timbers  yet  are  sound. 
And  she  may  float  again. 


The  Fatherland. 


273 


Full  charged  with  England's  thunder. 
And  plough  the  distant  main. 

But  Keniiienfelt  is  gone, 

His  victories  are  o'er  ; 
And  he  and  his  eight  hundred 

Sliall   plough   the   wave  no   more. 

Williani  Cowper. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BALTIC 

Of  Xeison  and  the  North, 
Sing  the  glorious  day's  renown, 
Wiien  to  battle  fierce  came  fortli 
All  the  might  of  Denmark's  crown. 
And  her  arms  along  the  deep   proiuily 

shone  ; 
By  each  gun  the  lighted  brand, 
In  a  bold,  determined  hand, 
And  the  Prince  of  all  the  land 
Led  them  on. 

Like  leviathans  afloat, 

Lay  their  bulwarks  on  the  brine  ; 

While  the  sign  of  battle  flew 

On  the  lofty  Britisli  line  : 

It  was  ten  of  April  morn  by  the  chime  ; 

As  they  drifted  on  their  patli, 

'J'here  was  silence  deep  as  dcatli ; 

And  the  boldest  held  his  breath. 

For  a  time. 

But  the  might  of  England  flushed 

To  anticipate  the  scene  ; 

And  her  van  the  fleeter  ruslied 

O'er  the  deadly  space  between. 

"  Hearts  of  oak!  "  our  captain  cried  ; 

when  each  gun 
From  its  adamantine  lips 
Spread  a  death-shade  round  the  ships. 
Like  the  hurricane  eclipse 
Of  the  sun. 


Out  spoke  the  victor  then. 

As  he  hailed  them  o'er  the  wave : 

"  Ye  are  brothers  !    ye  are  men  ! 

And  we  conquer  but  to  save  : 

So  peace  instead  of  death  let  us  1  i  ing  ; 

But  yield,  proud  foe,  thy  fleet. 

With  the  crews,  at  England's  feet. 

And  make  submission  meet 

To  our  King." 

Then  Denmark  blessed  our  chief. 
That  he  gave  her  wounds  repose. 
And  the  sounds  of  joy  and  grief 
From  her  people  wildly  rose, 
As  death  withdrew  his  shades  from  tlie 

(lay. 
While  the  sun  looked  smiling  bright 
O'er  a  wide  and  woeful  sight, 
^^■ilere  the  fires  of  funeral  light 
Died  away. 

Now  joy,  old  England,  raise  \ 

For  the  tidings  of  thy  might, 

By  the  festal  cities'  blaze. 

While   the    wine-cup   shines    in   light ; 

And  yet  amidst  that  joy  and  uproar. 

Let  us  think  of  them  that  sleep. 

Full  many  a  fathom  deep, 

Bj'  thy  wild  and  stormy  steep, 

Elsinore  ! 

Brave  hearts  !    to  Britain's  pride 

Once  so  faithful  and  so  true, 

( )n  the  deck  of  fame  that  died  ; — 

With  the  gallant  good  Riou  :  * 

Soft  sighs   the   winds  of  heaven   o'er 

their  grave  ! 
Wbile  the  billow  mournful  rolls. 
And  the  mermaid's  song  condoles, 
Singing  glory  to  the  souls 
Of  tiie  brave  \ 

Thont'id  CdmpliM. 


Again  !  again  !  again  ! 

And  the  havoc  did  not  slack. 

Till  a  feeble  cheer  the  Dane 

To  our  cheering  sent  us  back  ; 

Their    shots    along    the    deep    slowly 

boom : 
Then  ceased — and  all  is  wail, 
As  they  strike  tlie  shattered  sail; 
Or,  in  conflagration  pale, 
Light  the  gloom. 


TRAFAIiQAR. 

Whkn   Frenchmen  saw,    with   coward 
art. 

The  assassin  shot  of  war 
That  pierced  Britain's  noblest  heart. 

And  quenched  her  highest  star, 

»  Capbiin  Kiou,  justly  entitled  the  fja'lant 
and  the  good  l.y  Lord  ^'elson.  wLen  he  wrote 
home  bis  dispatches. 

i8 


274 


Poems  for  Children. 


Tlieir  shout  was  heard — they  triumph'd 
now, 

Amidst  the  battle's  roar. 
And  thought  the  British  oak  would  bow, 

Since  Nelson  was  no  more. 

Rut  fiercer  flamed  old  England's  pride. 
And— mark  the  vengeance  due, 

■  Down,    down,    insulting    ship,"    she 
cried, 
"  To  death,  with  all  thy  crew  ! 

"  So  perish  ye  for  Nelson's  blood, 
If  death  like  thine  can  pay 

For  blood  so  brave,  or  ocean  wave 
Can  wash  that  crime  away  !  " 

Thomas  Campbell. 


NELSON". 

Deep  graved  in  every  British  heart, 
O  never  let  his  name  depart ! 
Say  to  your  sons, — Lo,  here  his  grave. 
Who  victor  died  on  Gadite  wave  : 
To  liim,  as  to  the  burning  levin, 
Short,  bright,  resistless  course  was  given 
Where'er  his  country's  foes  were  found. 
Was  heard  the  fatal  thunder's  sound, 
Till  burst  the  bolt  on  yonder  shore. 
Rolled,  blazed,  destroy'd, — and  was  no 
more. 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 


Theirs  but  to  do  and  die. 
Into  the  valley  of  Death 
Rode  the  six  hundred. 

Cannon  to  right  of  them, 
Cannon  to  left  of  them. 
Cannon  in   front  of  them 

Volley'd  and  thunder'd  : 
Storm'd  at  with  shot  ami  sliell. 
Boldly  they  rode  and  well. 
Into  the  jaws  of  Death, 
Into  the  mouth  of  Hell 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 

Flash'd  all  their  sabres  bare, 
Flash'd  as  they  turned  in  air. 
Sabring  the  gunners  there. 
Charging  an  army,  while 

All  the  world  wonder'd  ; 
Plunged  in  the  battery-smoke 
Right  thro'  the  line  they  broke 
Cossack  and  Russian 
Reel'd  from  the  sabre-stroke 

Shatter'd  and  sunder'd. 
Then  they  rode  back,  but  not — 

Not  the  six  hundred. 

Cannon  to  right  of  them. 
Cannon  to  left  of  them, 
Cannon  behind  them 

Volley'd   and  thunder'd  ; 
Storm'd  at  with  shot  and  shell. 
While  horse  and  hero  fell, 
They  that  had  fought  so  well 
Came  thro'  the  jaws  of  Death 
Back  fi'om  the  mouth  of  Hell, 
All  that  was  left  of  them — 
Left  of  six  hundred. 


THE   CHARGE   OF  THE   LIGHT 
BRIGADE 

Half  a  league,  half  a  league. 
Half  a  league  onward, 
All  in  the  valley  of  Death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 
"  Forward,  the  Light  Brigade  ! 
Charge  for  the  guns  !  "  he  said  : 
Into  the  valley  of  Death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 

"  Forward  the  Light  Brigade  !  " 
Was  there  a  man  dismay'd  ? 
Not  tho'  the  soldier  knew 

Someone  had  blunder'd  : 
Theirs  not  to  make  reply, 
Theirs  not  to  reason  why, 


When  can  their  glory  fade  ? 
O,  the  wild  charge  they  mnde  ! 

All  the  world  wonderM 
Honour  the  charge  they  made  ! 
Honour  the  Light  Brigade, 

Noble  six  hundred  ! 

Lord   Tennyson. 


THE  EVE  OF  THE  BATTLE  OF 
WATERLOO. 

There  was  a  sound  of  revelry  by 

night, 
And  Belgium's  capital  had  gathered 

then 


The   Fatherland. 


27.'3 


Her  beauty  and  her  chivalry,    and 

briglit 
The   lamps  shone   o'er   fair   women 

and  lirave  men  ; 
A    thousand    liearts    beat    happily, 

and  wlien 
Music    arose     with    its     voluptuous 

swell. 
Soft  eyes  looked  love  to  eyes  Mhieh, 

spake  again, 
Ant!  all  went  merr}'  as  a  marriage 

bell ; 
But  hush  !   hark  !   a  deep  sound  strikes 

like  a  rising  knell. 

Did  ye  not  hear  it  ?     No  ;   'twas  but 

the  wind. 
Or  the   ear   rattling  o'er   the  stony 

street ; 
On  with  the  dance,  let  joy  be  un- 

con  fined  ; 
No  sleep  till  morn,  when  youth  and 

pleasure  meet 
To    chase    the   glowing    hours    with 

flying  feet. 
But  hark  !    that  heavy  sound  breaks 

in  once  more, 
As    if    the   clouds    its    echo    would 

repeat ; 
And    nearer,    clearer,    deadUer   than 

before  ! 
Arm  !   arm  !   it  is — it  is — the  cannon's 

opening  roar  ! 

Within  a    windowed    niche    of  that 

high  wall 
Sate  Brunswick's  fated  chieftain  ;  he 

did  hear 
That    sound,    the    first    amidst  the 

festival. 
And    caught  its    tone    with    death's 

prophetic    ear  ; 
Ami   when    they  smiled   because  he 

deemed  it  near 
His  heart  more  truly  knew  that  peal 

too  well 
Which    stretched    his    father    on    a 

bloody  l)ier. 
And    roused    the    vengeance    blood 

alone  could  ([ueil ; 
He  rushed  into  the  field,  and  foremost 

fighting  fell. 

Ah  !     then  and  there   was   hurrying 

to  and  fro. 
And  gathering  tears,  and  tremblings 

of  distress. 


And  cheeks  all  pale,  which  but  an 

hour  ago 
Blushed  at  the  praise  of  their  own 

loveliness  ; 
And  there  were  sudden  })artings,  such 

as  j)ress 
The  life  from  out  young  hearts,  and 

choking  sighs 
Which  ne'er  might  be  repeated  ;   who 

might  guess 
If    ever    more    should     meet    those 

mutual  eyes, 
Since  upon  night  so  sweet  such  awful 

morn  could  rise  ? 

And    there    was    moimting    in    hot 

haste  :    the  steed, 
The    mustering  squadron,    and    the 

clattei'ing  car, 
Went    pouring    forward     with     im- 

])etuous  speed, 
And  swiftly  forming  in  the  ranks  of 

war  ; 
And  the  deep  thunder,  peal  on  peal 

afar ; 
And  near,  the  beat  of  the  alarming 

drum 
Roused  up  the  soldier  ere  the  morn- 
ing star  ; 
While    throngetl    the    citizens    with 

terror  diiml), 
Or  whispering  with  white  lips — "  The 

foe  !  They  come  !  They  come  !  " 

And  wild  and  high  the  "  Cameron's 

gathering  "  rose. 
The    war    note    of    Lochiel,    which 

Albyn's  hills 
Have   heard,   and   heard,   too,   have 

her  Saxon  foes  : 
How    in    the    noon    of    night    that 

pibroch  thrills 
Savage    and    shrill  !     But    with    the 

breath  which  tills 
Their    mountain    pipe,    so    fill    the 

mountaineers 
With  the  fierce  native  daring  which 

instils 
The  stirring  memory  of  a  thousand 

years 
And    Evan's,    Donald's   fame   rings   in 

each  clansman's  ears  ! 

And    Ardennes    waves    about    them 

her  green  leaves. 
Dewy  with   nature's   tear-drops,     as 

they  pass, 

i8* 


276 


Poems  for  Children 


Grieving,    if    aught    inanimate    e'er 

grieves, 
Over  the  unreturning  brave — ahis  ! 
Ere  evening  to  be  trodden  hke  the 

erass 


Which  now  beneath  them,  but  above 

shall  grow 
In  its  next  verdure,  when  the  fiery 

mass 
Of  living  valour,  roUing  on  the  foe. 
And    burning    with    high    hope,    shall 

moulder  cold  and  low. 

Last  noon  beheld  them  full  of  lusty 

Ufe, 
Last  eve  in  Beauty's  circle  providly 

gay, 

The    midnight    brought   the    signal- 
sound  of  strife. 

The  morn  the  marshalling  in  arms — 
the  day 

Battle's  magnificently  stern  array  ! 

The    thunder   clouds    close    o'er    it, 
which  when  rent 

The  earth  is  covered  thick  with  other 
clay. 

Which    her    own    clay   shall    cover, 
heaped  and  pent. 
Rider   and  horse — friend,   foe — in  one 
red  burial  blent ! 

Lord  Byron. 


When  the  sour-looking  folks  sent  me 
.   heartless  away, 

I  had  always  a  friend  in  my  poor  dog 
Tray. 

When  the  road  was  so  dark,  and  the 

night  was  so  cold, 
And    Pat    and    his    dog    were    grown 

weary  and  old. 
How  snugly  we  slept  in  my  old  coat 

of  grey. 
And   he  Ucked   me   for   kindness — my 

poor  dog  Tray. 

Though  my  wallet  was  scant,  I  re- 
membered his  case. 

Nor  refused  my  last  crust  to  his 
pitiful   face  ; 

But  he  died '  at  my  feet  one  told 
winter's  day. 

And  I  played  a  sad  lament  for  my 
poor  dog  Tray. 

Where  now  shall  I  go,  poor,  forsaken, 

and  bhnd  ? 
Can  I  find  one  to  guide  me,  so  faithful 

and  kind  ? 
To   my  sweet  native   village,   so   far, 

far  away, 
I    can    never    more    return    with    my 

poor  dog  Tray. 

Thomas  Caiupbell. 


THE   IBISH  HARPER. 

On  the  green  banks  of  Shamion,  when 

Sheelah  was  nigh. 
No  blithe  Irish  lad  was  so  happy  as  I ; 
No  harp  hke  my  own  could  so  cheerily 

play. 
And   wherever  I  went  was   my  poor 

dog  Tray. 

When  at  last  I  was  forced   from   my 

Sheelah  to  part. 
She   said — while   the   sorrow    was    big 

at  her  heart : 
"  Oh  !    remember  your  Sheelah,  when 

far,   far  away. 
And    be   kind,    my    dear   Pat,    to   our 

poor  dog  Tray." 

Poor  dog  !    he  was  faithful,  and  kind, 

to  be  sure, 
And  he  constantly  loved  me,  although 

I  was  poor ; 


EXILE  OF  ERIN. 

There    came    to   the    beach    a    poor 

Exile  of  Erin, 
The  dew  on  his  thin  robe  was  heavy 

and  chill : 
For  his   country   he   sighed,    when   at 

twilight  repairing 
To    wander    alone     by    the     wind- 
beaten   hill. 
But  the  day-star  attracted  his  eye's  sad 

devotion 
For  it  rose   o'er   his   own   native   isle 

of  the  ocean 
Where  once  in  the  fire  of  his  youthful 

emotion 
He  sang  the  bold  anthem  of  "  Erin  go 

bragh."  * 

••  Ireland  for  ever. 


The   Fatherland. 


Sad  is  my  fate  !   said  the  heart- broken 

stranger  ; 
The  wild  deer  and  wolf  to  a  covert 

can  flee, 
But  I  have  no  refuge  from  famine  and 

danger, 
A  home  and  a  country  remain  not 

to  me. 
Never     again      in     the     green     sunny 

bowers. 
Where    my    forefathers   lived     shall    I 

spend  the  sweet  hours. 
Or    cover    my    harp    with    the    wild- 
woven  flowers. 
And  strike  to  the  numbers  of  "  Erin 

go  bragh  !  " 

Erin,    my   country  !     though   sad   and 

forsaken. 
In  dreams    I  revisit   thy   sea-beaten 

shore ; 
But    alas  !     in    a    far    foreign    land    i 

awaken. 
And  sigh  for  the    friends  who  can 

meet  me  no  more  ! 
Oh  cruel  fate  !   wilt  thou  never  replace 

me 
In    a    mansion    of    peace — where    no 

perils  can  chase  me  ? 
Never    again    shall    my    brothers   em- 
brace me  ? 
They   died   to   defend   me,    or   live  to 

deplore  ! 

Where  is  my  cabin-door,  fast  by  the 

wild  wood  ? 
Sisters   and   sire  !     did   ye   weep  for 

its  fall  ? 
Where  is  the   mother  that  looked   on 

my  childhood  ? 
And     where     is     the     bosom-friend, 

dearer  than  all  ? 
Oh  !    mj'  sad  heart !    long  abandoned 

by  pleasure, 
Why    did    it    dote    on    a    fast-fading 

treasure  ? 
Tears,    like    the    rain-drop,    may    fall 

without  measure. 
But  rapture  and   beauty  they  cannot 

recall. 

Yet     all     its     sad     recollections     sup- 
pressing, 
One  dying  wish  my  lone  bosom  can 
draw  : 

Erin  !     an    exile    bequeaths    thee    his 
blessing  ! 


Land  of  my  forefathers !  Erin- 
go- bragh  ! 

Buried  and  cold,  when  my  heart  stills 
her  motion, 

(Jreen  be  thy  fields,  sweetest  isle  of 
the  ocean  ! 

And  thy  harp-striking  bards  sing  aloud 
with  devotion, 

Erin  mavournin,* — Erin-go-bragh  ! 

Thomas  Camjilidl. 


THE   MINSTREL  BOY. 

The  Minstrel-boy  to  the  war  is  gone. 

In  the  ranks  of  death  you'll  find  him  ; 
His  father's  sword   he  has  girded   on. 

And  his  wild  harp  slung  behind  him. 
"  Land   of   song  !  "   said   the   warrior- 
bard, 

"  Though  all  tne  world  betrays  thee. 
One    sword    at   least    thy   rights   shall 
guard. 

One  faithful  harp  shall  praise  thee  !  " 

The  Minstrel  fell ! — but  the  foeman's 
chain 
Could     not    bring    his    proud    soul 
under  ; 
Tlie  harp  he  loved  ne'er  spoke  again. 

For  he  tore  its  chords  asunder  ; 
And  said,  "  No  chains  shall  sully  thee, 

Thou  soul  of  love  and  bravery  ! 
Thy  songs   were   made   for   the   brave 
and  free. 
They  shall  never  sound  in  slavery  !  " 

Thomas  Moore. 


SCOTLAND. 

0  Caledonia,  stern  and  wild, 
Meet  nurse  for  a  poetic  child  ! 
Land  of  brown  heath  and  shaggy  wood. 
Land  of  the  mountaic    and  the   flood. 
Land  of  my  sires,  what  mortal  hand 
Can  untie  the  filial  band 
That  knits  me  to  thy  rugged  strand  ? 
Still,  as  I  view  each  well-known  scene. 
Think  what  is  now,  and  what  hath  been. 
Seems  as,  to  me,  of  all  bereft, 
Sole    friends    thy    woods    and    streams 
were  left  ; 

*  Ireland  my  Darling 


278 


Poems  for  Children 


And  thus  I  love  them  better  still, 
Even  in  extremity  of  ill. 
By  Yarrow's  stream  still  let  me  stray 
Though   none    shall   guide    my    fecLle 

way  ; 
Still    feel    the    breeze    down    Ettrick 

break, 
Although  it  chill  my  withered  cheek  ; 
Htill  lay  my  head  by  Teviot  stone, 
TliOugh  there  forgotten  and  alone, 
The  bard  may  di-aw  his  parting  groan. 

Sir    Walter   Scott. 


THE  BLTJEBELL  OF 
SCOTLAND. 

Oh   M'here  !     and   oh   M-here  !    is  your 

Highland  laddie  gone  ? 
He's  gone  to  fight  the  French  for  King 

George  upon  the  throne  ; 
And  it's  oh  !    in  my  heart  how  I  wish 

him  safe  at  home. 

Oh  where  !    and  oh  where  !    does  your 

Highland  laddie  dwell  ? 
He  dwells  in  merrj^  Scotland  at  the  sign 

of  the  Bluebell ; 
And  it's  oh  !  in  my  heart  that  I  love  m  j^ 

laddie  well. 

What  clothes,  in  what  clothes  is  your 

Highland   laddie   clad  ? 
His  bonnet's  of  the  Saxon  gi-een,  his 

waistcoat's  of  the  plaid  ; 
And  it's  oh  !    in  my  heart  that  I  love 

my  Highland  lad. 

Suppose,  oh  suppose,  that  your  High- 
land lad  should  die  ? 

The  bagpipes  shall  play  over  liini,  I'll 
lay  me  down  and  cry  ; 
'  And  it's  oh  !    in  my  heart  that  I  wish 
he  may  not  die  1 


MELEOSE  ABBEY. 

If    thou    would'st   view    fair   Melrose 

aright, 
Go  visit  it  by  the  pale  moonlight ; 
For  the  gaj^  beanis  of  lightsome  day, 
Guild,  but  to  flout,  the  ruins  grey. 
When  the  broken  arches  are  black  in 

night, 


And  each  shafted  oriel  glimmers  white  ; 
Wlien  the  cold  light's  uncertain  shower 
Streams  on  the  ruin'd  central  tower  ; 
^\'hen  buttress  and  buttress,  alternately, 
Seem  framed  of  ebon  and  ivory, 
When  silver  edges  the  imagery. 
And    the    scrolls    that    teach    thee    to 

hve  and  die  ; 
When  distant  Tweed  is  heard  to  rave 
And  the  owlet  to  hoot  o'er  the  dead 

man's  grave. 
Then  go — but  go  alone  the  while — 
Then  view  St.  David's  ruin'd  pile  ; 
And,  home  returning,  soothly  swear. 
Was  never  scene  so  sad  and  fair  ! 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 


CONRACH. 

He  is  gone  on  the  mountain, 

He  is  lost  to  the  forest, 
Like  a  summer  dried  fountain, 

When  our  need  was  the  sorest. 
The  font  reappearing, 

From  the  raindrops  shall  borrow. 
But  to  us  comes  no  cheering. 

To    Duncan   no    morrow ! 

The     hand  of  the  reaper 

Takes  the  ears  that  are  hoary 
But  the  voice  of  the  weeper 

AVails  manhood  in  glory. 
The  autumn  winds  rushing. 

Waft  the  leaves  that  are  scares t. 
But  our  flower  was  in  flushing. 

When  blighting  was  nearest. 

Fleet  foot  on  the  correi, 

Sage  counsel  in  cumber. 
Red  hand  in  the  foray. 

How  sound  is  thy  slumber  ! 
Like  the  dew  on  the  mountain, 

Like  the  foam  on  the  river. 
Like  the  bubble  on  the  fountain. 

Thou  art  gone,  and  for  ever. 

;SiV   Walter  Scott. 


BRUCE  TO  HIS  ARMY. 

Scots,  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled, 
Scots,  wham  Bruce  has  often  led  ; 
Welcome  to  your  gory  bed, 
Or  to  victory  ! 


The   Fatherland. 


279 


i'Jow's  the  day,  and  now's  the  liour. 
See  the  front  of  battle  lower  ; 
■See  approach  proud  Edward's  power, 
Chains  and  slavery  ! 

Wha  will  he  a  traitor  knave  ? 
Wha  can  fill  a  coward's  grave  ? 
Wha  sae  liase  as  be  a  slave  ? 
Let  him  turn  and  flee  ! 

Wha  for  Scotland's  king  and  law, 
Freedom's  sword  would  strongly  draw, 
Freeman  stand  or  freeman  fa', 
Let  him  follow  me  ! 

By  oppression's  woes  and  pains. 

By  your  sons  in  servile  chains, 

We  will  drain  our  dearest  veins. 

But  they  shall  be  free  ! 

Lay  the  proud  usurper  low  { 
Tyrants  fall  in  every  foe  ! 
Liberty's  in  every  blow  ! 
Let  us  do,  or  die  ! 

Eohert  Burns. 


MY  HEABT'S  IN  THE 
HIGHLANDS 

My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  my  heart 

is  not  here  ; 
Mj'  heart's  in  the  Highlands  a-ohasing 

the  deer ; 
Chasing  the  ^ild  deer,  and  following 

the  roe. 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  wherever 

I  go. 

Farewell  to  the  Higlilands,  farewell  to 

the  North, 
The  birth-place  of  valour,  the  country 

of  worth  ; 
Wherever  I  wander,  wherever  I  rove, 
The  hills  of  the  Highlands  for  ever  I 

love. 

Farewell  to  the  mountains  high  covered 
with  snow ; 

Farewell  to  the  straths  and  green 
valleys,  below ; 

Farewell  to  the  forests  and  wild-hang- 
ing woods ; 

Farewell  to  the  torrents  and  loud- 
poiuing  floods. 


My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  my  heart 

is  not  here  ; 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  a-chasing 

the  deer ; 
Chasing  the  wild  deer,  and   following 

the  roe. 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  wherever 

I  go  I 

Bobert  Burns. 


CANADIAN  BOAT  SONQ. 

Faintly  as  tolls  the  evening  chime. 
Our  voices   keep   tune,    and   our   oars 

keep  time ; 
Soon  as  the  woods  on  shore  look  dim. 
We'll  sing  at  St.  Anne's  our  parting 

hymn. 
Bow,   brothers,  row,  the  stream  runs 

fast ; 
The  Rapids  are  near,  and  the  daylight's 

past. 

Why  should  we  yet  our  sail  unfurl  ? 
There  is  not  a  breath  the  blue  wave  to 

curl ; 
But  when  the  wind  blows  o&  the  shore, 
Oh  !  s^^eetly  Me'U  rest  our  weary  oar. 
Blow,  breezes,  blow,  the  stream  runs 

fast, 
The  Kapids  are  near,  and  thedaj'light's 

past. 

Ottawa's  tide  !  tliis  trembling  moon 
iSliall  see  us  float  over  thy  surges  soon  : 
Saint    of    this    green    isle  1    liear    our 

prayers. 
Oh  !  grant  us  cool  heavens,  and  favour- 
ing airs  ! 
Row,  brothers,  row,  the  stream  runs 

fast. 
The  Rapids  are  near,  and  the  daylight's 
past. 

Thomas   Moore. 


NAPOLEON'S   FAREWELL. 

Farewell  to  the  land  where  the  gloom 

of  my  glory 
Arose    and    o'ershadowed   the  earth 

with  her  name — 
She  abandons  me  now — but  the  page  of 

her  story, 


280 


Poems  for  Children. 


The   briglitest  or  blackest,   is   filled 

with  my  fame. 
I    have    warred   with    a   world    wliic'i 

vanquished  me  only 
When  the  meteor  of  conquest  allured 

me  too  far ; 
I  have  coped  with    the  nations  wli'cli 

dread  me  thus  lonely. 
The  last  single  captive  to  millions  in 

war. 

Farewell  to  thee,   France !    when   thy 
diadem  crowned  me 
I  made  thee  the  gem  and  the  wonder 
of  earth — 
But  thy  weakness  decrees  I  should  leave 
as  I  found  thee. 
Decayed   in   thy  glory,  and  sunk  in 
thy  worth. 
Oh !  for  the  veteran  hearts  that  were 
wasted 
In  strife  with  the  storm,  when  their 
battles  were  won — 
Then    the   eagle,    whose   gaze   in   that 
moment  was  blasted, 
Had   still  soared  with  eyes  fixed  on 
victory's  sun ! 

Farewell   to   thee,   France !    but   wlien 
Liberty  rallies 
Once  more  in  thy  region,  remember 
me  then — 
The  violet  still  grows  in  the  depths  of 
thy  valleys : 
Though     withered,     thy     tears    will 
unfold  it  again — 
Yet,  yet  I   may  baiile   tlie  hosts   that 
surround  us, 
And  yet  may  my  heart  leap  awake  to 
thy  voice — 
There  are  links  which  must  break  in  the 

chain  that  has  bound  us. 
Then  turn  thee  and  call  on  the  Chief  of 
thy  choice  I 

Lord  Byron, 


THE  liANDINQ  OF  THE 
PIIiGRIM  FATHERS. 

The  breaking  waves  dashed  high 
On  a  stern  and  rock- bound  coast, 

And  the  woods  against  a  stormy  sky 
Their  giant  branches  tossed 


And  the  heavy  night  hung  dark 

The  hills  and  waters  o'er, 
Wlien  a  band  of  exiles  moored  their  bark 

On  the  wild  New  England  shore. 

Not  as  the  conqueror  comes. 
They,  the  true-hearted,  came, 

Not  with  the  roll  of  stirring  drums. 
And  the  trumpet  that  sings  of  fame  ; 

Not  as  the  flying  come, 

In  silence  and  in  fear, — 
They  shook  the  depths  of  the  desert's 
gloom 

With  their  hymns  of  lofty  cheer. 

Amidst  the  storm  they  sang. 

And  the  stars  heard  and  the  sea  ! 

And    the   sounding   aisles   of   the   dim 
wood  rang 
To  the  anthems  of  the  fi'ee  ! 

The  ocean-eagle  soared 

From  his  nest  by  the  white  waves' 
foam. 
And   the  rocking  pines   of  the   forest 
roared, — 
This  was  their  welcome  home  [ 

There  were  men  with  hoary  hair 
Amidst  that  pilgrim- band  ; 

Why  had  they  come  to  wither  there. 
Away  from  their  childhood's  land  ? 

There  was  woman's  fearless  eye. 
Lit  by  her  deep  love's  truth  ; 

There    was    manhood's    brow   serenely 
high, 
And  the  fiery  heart  of  youth. 

What  sought  they  thus  afar  ? 

Bright  jewels  of  the  mine  ? 
The  wealth  of  seas,  the  spoils  of  war  ? 

They  sought  a  faith's  pure  shrine  ! 

Ay,  call  it  holy  ground. 

The  soil  where  first  they  trod  ! 
They  have  left  unstained  what  there 
they  found, — 
Freedom  to  worship  God  ! 

Felicia  Dorothea  Hemana. 


POCAHONTAS. 

Wearied  arm  and  broken  sword 
Wage  in  vain  the  desperate  fight : 


The   Fatherland 


281 


Round  him  press  a  countless  horde. 
He  is  but  a  single  knight. 

Hark  a  cry  of  triumph  shrill 

Through  the  wilderness  resounds, 
As  with  twenty  bleeding  wounds 

Sinks  the  warrior  fighting  still. 

Now  they  heap  the  fatal  pyre, 

And  the  torch  of  death  they  light ; 

Ah  !  'tis  hard  to  die  of  fire  ! 

Who  will  shield  the  captive  knight  ? 

Bound  the  stake  with  fiendish  cry 
Wheel  and  dance  the  savage  crowd. 
Cold  the  victim's  mien  and  proud, 

And  his  breast  is  bared  to  die. 

Who  will  shield  the  fearless  heart  ? 

Who  avert  the  murderous  lilade  ? 
From  the  throng,  with  sudden  start, 

See  there  springs  an  Indian  maid. 
Quick  she  stands  before  the  knight : 

"  Loose  the  chain,  unbind  the  ring  ; 

I  am  daughter  of  the  king. 
And  I  claim  the  Indian  right  |  " 

Dauntlessly  aside  she  flings 
Lifted  axe  and  thirsty  knife  ; 

Fondly  to  his  heart  she  clings. 
And  her  bosom  guards  his  life  ! 

In  the  wood  of  Powhattan, 
Still  'tis  by  Indian  lircs, 
How  a  daughter  of  tiieir  sires 

Saved  the  captive  Englishman. 

William  Makepeace  Thackeray. 


INDIAN    NAMES. 
Ye  say  they  all  have  passed  away, 

That  noble  race  and  brave  ; 
That  their  light  canoes  have  vanished 

From  ofiF  the  crested  wave  ; 
That,     mid     the    forests    where    they 
roamed. 

There  rings  no  hunter's  shout ; 
But  their  name  is  on  your  waters. 

Ye  may  not  wash  it  out. 

'Tis  where  Ontario's  billow 

Like  ocean's  surge  is  curled. 
Where  strong  Niagara's  thunders  wake 

The  echo  of  the  world, 
Where  red  Missouri  bringeth 

Rich  tribute  from  the  west, 
And  Rappahannock  sweetly  sleeps 

On  green  Virginia's  breast. 


Ye  say  their  conclike  cabins. 

That  clustered  o'er  the  vale. 
Have  disappeared,  as  withered  leaves 

Before  the  autunm's  gale  ; 
But  their  memory  liveth  on  your  hills. 

Their  baptism  on  your  shore, 
Your  everlasting  rivers  speak 

Their  dialect  of  yore. 

Old  Massachusetts  wears  it 

Within  her  lordly  crown, 
And  broad  Ohio  bears  it 

Amid  his  young  renown. 
Connecticut  hath  wreathed  it 

Where  her  quiet  foliage  waves. 
And  bold  Kentucky  breathes  it  hoarse 

Through  all  her  ancient  caves. 

Wachusett  hides  its  lingering  voice 

Within  its  rocky  heart, 
And  Alleghany  graves  its  tone 

Tiiroughout  his  lofty  chart. 
Monadnock,  on  his  forehead  hoar. 

Doth  seal  the  sacred  trust. 
Your  mountains  build  their  monument. 

Though  ye  destroy  their  dust. 

Mrs.  Sigourney. 


"THE      STAR-SPANQIiED 
BANNER." 

Oh  say,   can  you  see  by  the    dawn's 
early  light. 
What  so  proudly  we  hailed  at  the 
twilight's  last  gleaming  ? 
Whose  broad  stripes  and  bright  stars, 
through  the  perilous  fight 
On  the  ramparts  we  watched,  were 
so  gallantly  streaming. 
And  the  rocket's  red  glare,  the  bombs 
bursting  in  air, 
Gave  proof  through  the  night  that 
our  flag  was  still  there  ; 
Oh  say,  does  the  star-spangled    banner 
yet  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home 
of  the  brave  ? 

On  tlie  shores  dimly  seen,  through  the 

mists  of  tlic  deep. 
Where    the    foe's    haugiity    host    in 

dread  silence  reposes. 
What  is  it  that  which  the  breeze  o'er 

the  towering  steep, 


282 


Poems  for  Children. 


As   it  fitfully  blows,   half  conceals, 
half  discloses  ? 
Now  it  catches  the  gleam  of  the  morn- 
ing's first  beam  : 

In  full  glory  reflected,  now  shines  on 
the  strcajn  ; 
'Tis  the  star-spangled  banner,  0  long 
may  it  wave 

O'er  the  land   of  the   free   and   the 
home  of  the  brave. 

Francis  Scnti  Key. 


O    CAPTAIN  !    MY    CAPTAIN  ! 

O  Captain  !  my  Captain  !  our  fearful 

trip  is  done, 
T'le  ship  has  weather'd  every  rack,  the 

l)rize  we  sought  is  won, 
Tlie  port  is  near,  the  bell8  I  hear,  the 

people  all  exulting, 
A\liile  follow  eyes  the  steady  keel,  the 
vessel  grim  and  daring ; 
But  O  heart !  heart !  heart ! 

O  the  bleeding  drops  of  red, 
Where  on  the  deck  my  Captain  lies, 
Fallen  cold  and  dead. 


THE    AMERICAN    FLAG. 
,  When    freedom,    from    her    mountain 
height 
Unfurl'd  her  standard  to  the  air. 
She  tore  the  azure  robe  of  night. 

And  set  the  stars  of  glory  there. 
She  mingled  with  its  gorgeous  dyes 
The  milky  baldric  of  the  skies. 
And  striped  its  pure,  celestial  white, 
With  streakings  of  the  morning  light ; 
Then  from  his  mansion  in  the  sun 
She  call'd  her  eagle  bearer  down ; 
And  gave  into  liis  mighty  hand 
The  symbol  of  lier  chosen  land. 


Flag  of  the  seas  !  on  ocean  wave 
Thy  stars  shall  glitter  o'er  the  brave ; 
Wlien  (leatli,  careering  on  the  gale. 
Sweeps  darkly  round  the  bellied  sail. 
And  frighted  waves  rush  wildly  back 
Before  the  broadside's  reeling  rack. 
Each  dying  wanderer  of  the  sea 
Shall  look  at  once  to  heaven  and  thee, 
And  smile  to  see  thy  splendours  fly 
In  triumph  o'er  his  closing  eye. 


O  Captain  !  my  Captain  !  rise  up  and 

hear  the  bells : 
Rise  up — for  you  the  flag  is  flung — for 

you  the  bugle  trills. 
For  you  bouquets  and  ribbon'd  wreaths 

— for  you  the  shores  a-crowding. 
For  you  they  call,  the  swaying  mass, 
their  eager  faces  turning  ; 
Here,  Captain  !  dear  father  ! 

This  arm  beneath  your  head  ! 

It  is  some  dream  that  on  the  deck 

You've  fallen  cold  and  dead. 

My  Captain  does  not  answer,  his  lips 

are  pale  and  still. 
My  father  does  not  feel  my  arm,  he  has 

no  pulse  nor  will, 
Tlie  ship  is  anchor'd  safe  and  sound,  its 

voyage  closed  and  done. 
From  fearful  trip  the  victor  ship  comes 
in  with  object  won  ; 

Exult  O  shores  !  and  ring,  0  bells  ! 

But  I  with  mournful  tread. 
Walk  the  deck  my  Captain  lies, 
Fallen  cold  and  dead. 

Walt   Whitman. 


Flag  of  the  free  heart's  hope  and  home  j 

By  angel  hands  to  valour  given  ; 
Tliy  stars  have  lit  the  welkin  dome. 

And  all  thy  hues  were  born  in  heaven. 
For  ever  float  that  standard  sheet ! 
Where   breathes   the   foe   that   falls 
before  us. 
With  freedom's  soil  beneath  our  feet 
And  freedom's  banner  streaming  o'er 
ua  ! 

Joseph  Rodman  Drake, 


WHEN  BANNERS  ARE 
WAVING. 

When  banners  are  waving. 

And  lances  a-pushing  ; 
When  captains  are  shouting, 

And  war-horses  rushing ; 
When  cannon  are  roaring. 

And  hot  bullets  flying. 
He  that  would  honour  win, 

]\Iust  not  fear  dying. 


The   Fatherland. 


28,3 


Though  shafts  fly  so  thick 

That  it  ?ocms  to  be  snowinc; ; 
Tliough  stn-amlets  witli  hlood 

More  than  water  arc  flowing  ; 
Though  with  sabre  and  bullet 

Our  bravest  are  dying, 
We  speak  of  revenge,  but 

We  ne'er  speak  of  llying. 

Come,  stand  to  it,  heroes  ! 

The  heathen  are  coming  ; 
Horsemen  are  round  tlie  walls, 

Riding  and  running  ; 
Maidens  and  matrons  all 

Arm  !  arm  !  are  crying. 
From  petards  tlie  wildfire's 

Flashing  and  flying. 

The  trumpets  from  turrets  higli 

Loudly  are  braying  ; 
The  steeds  for  the  onset 

Are  snorting  and  neighing  ; 
As  waves  in  the  ocean 

The  dark  plumes  are  dancing  ; 
As  stars  in  the  blue  sky 

The  helmets  are  glancing. 

Their  ladders  are  planting. 

Their  sabres  are  sweeping ; 
Now  swords  from  our  sheaths 

By  the  thousand  are  leai)ing  ; 
Like  the  flash  of  the  levin, 

Ere  men  hearken  thunder. 
Swords  gleam,  and  the  steel  capa 

Are  cloven  asunder. 

The  shouting  has  ceased. 

And  the  flashing  of  cannon  J 
I  looked  from  the  turret 

For  orescent  and  pennon  : 
As  flax  touched  by  fire. 

As  hail  in  the  river, 
They  were  smote,  they  were  fallen, 

AJad  had  melted  for  ever. 


•WAB. 

The  hunting  tribes  of  air  and  earth. 
Respect  the  brethren  of  their  birth  ; 
Nature,  who  loves  the  claim  of  kind. 
Less  cruel  chase  to  each  assigned  : 
The  falcon,  poised  on  soaring  wing. 
Watches  the  wild  duck  at  the  spring  ; 
The  slow-hound  wakes  the  fox's  lair. 
The  greyhound  presses  on  the  hare, 


The  eagle  pounces  on  the  lamb. 
The  wolf  devours  the  fleecy  dam : 
E'en  tiger  fell  and  sullen  bear 
Their  likeness  and  their  lineage  spare 
Man  only  mara  kind  nature's  plan. 
And  turns  the  fleree  pursuit  on  man. 
Plying  war's  desultory  trade. 
Incursion,  flight,  and  ambuscade  ; 
Since  Ninirod,  Cush's  mighty  son. 
At  first  the  bloody  game  begun. 

Sir  Waller  Scott. 


THE  WAR  HORSE. 

The  fiery  courser,  when  he  hears  from 

far 
The  sprightly  trumpets  and  the  shouts 

of  war. 
Pricks  up  his  ears,  and  trembling  with 

delight. 
Shifts  place,  and  paws,  and  hopes  the 

promised  fight 
On  his  right  shoulder  his  thick  mane 

reclined. 
Ruffles  at  speed,  and  dances  in  the  wind. 
Eager  he  stands — then,  starting  with  a 

bound. 
He  turns  the  turf,  and  shakes  the  solid 

ground  ; 
Fire   from   his   eyes,    clouds   from    his 

nostrils  flow. 
He  bears  his  rider  headlong  on  the  foe 

John  Drydtn  {from  Vmjil). 


FROM  INDIA. 
"  Oil,  come  you  from  the  Indies,  and, 

soldier,  can  you  tell 
Aught  of  the   gallant  90th,   and   who 

are  safe  and  well  ? 
O  soldier,  say  my  son  is  safe  (for  nothing 

else  I  care). 
And  you  shall  have  a  mother's  thanks 

^shall  have  a  widow's  prayer  !  " 

"  Oh,  I've  come  from  the  Indies,  I've 

just  come  from  the  war. 
And  well  I  know  the  yOtn,  and  gallant 

lads  they  are  : 
From  colonel  down  to  rank  and  file, 

I   know  my  comrades  well. 
And  news  I've  brought  for  you,  mother, 

your  Robert  bade  me  tell," 


284 


Poems  for  Children. 


"  And  do  you  know  my  Robert  now  ! 

oh.  tell  me,  tell  me  true — 
O  soldier,   tell  me  word  for  Avord  all 

that  he  said  to  you  ! 
His  very  words — my  own  boy's  words — 

O  tell  me  every  one  ! 
You  little  know  how  dear  to  his  old 

mother  is  my  son  !  " 

"  Through  Havelock's  fights  and 
marches  the  90th  were  there  ; 

In  all  the  gallant  90th  did,  your  Robert 
did  his  share  : 

Twice  he  went  into  Lucknow,  un- 
touched  by  steel  or   ball  ; 

And  you  may  bless  your  God,  old 
dame,  that  brought  him  safe  through 
all." 

"  Oh,  thanks  unto  the  living  God  that 

heard  his  mother's  prayer. 
The  widow's  cry  that  rose  on  high  her 

only  son  to  spare ! 
O  bless'd  be  God,  that  turned  from  him 

the  sword   and  shot  away  ! — 
And  what  to  his  old  mother  did  my 

darling  bid  you  say  ?  " 

"  Mother,   he  saved  his   colonel's   life. 

and  bravely  it  was  done  ; 
In  the  despatch  they  told  it  all,  ami 

named  and  praised  your  son  ; 
A   medal   and   a  pension's   his  ;    good 

luck  to  him,  I  say  ; 
And  he  has  not  a  comrade  but  will  wish 

him  well  to-day." 

"  Now,     soldier,     blessings     on     your 

tongue  !  O  husband,  that  you  knew 
How  well  our  boy  pays  me  this  day  for 

all  that  I've  gone  through  ; 
All  I  have  done  and  borne  for  him  the 

long  years  since  you're  dead  ! 
But,   soldier,   tell   me  how  he  looked, 

and   all   my  Robert  said." 

"  He's     bronzed,     and     tanned,     and 

bearded,    and    you'd    hardly    know 

him,   dame : 
We've  made  your  boy  into  a  man,  but 

still  his  heart's  the  same  ; 
For  often,  dame,  his  talk's  of  you,  and 

always  to  one  tune  ; — 
But  there,  his  ship  is  nearly  home,  and 

he'll  be  with  you  soon." 


"  Oh  !  is  he  really  coming  home,  and 

shall  I  really  see 
My  boy  again,   my  own  boy,   home  ? 

and  when,  when  will  it  be  ? 
Did   you   say  soon  ?  " — "  Well,   he   is 

home  ;    keep  cool,   old  dame  ;    he's 

here." — 
"  O   Robert,    my  own  blessed   boy  !  " 

— "  O  mother  ! — mother  dear  !  " 

yVilliam  Cox  Bennett, 


THE  SOLDIER'S  DREAM. 

Our  bugles  sang  truce — for  the  night 
cloud  had  lowered. 
And    the    sentinel    stars    set    their 
watch  in  the  sky  ; 
And  thousands  had  sunk  on  the  ground 
overpowered. 
The  weary  to  sleep,  and  the  wounded 
to  die. 

When  reposing  that  night  on  my  pallet 
of  straw. 
By     the     wolf-scaring     fagot     that 
guarded  the  slain  ; 
At  the  dead  of  the  night  a  sweet  vision 
I  saw. 
And  thrice  ere  the  morning  I  dreamt 
it  again. 

Mcthought  from  the  battle-field's  dread- 
ful  array, 
Far,  far  I  had  roamed  on  a  desolate 
track  : 
'Twas    Autumn, — and    sunshine    arose 
on  the  way 
To   the   home   of   my   fathers,    that 
welcomed   me   back. 

I  Hew  to  the  pleasant  fields  traversed 
so  oft 
In  life's   morning  march,  when   my 
bosom  was  young, 
I  heard  my  own  mountain  goats  bleat- 
ing aloft. 
And  knew  the  sweet  strain  that  th 
corn-reapers  sung. 

Then    pledged    we   the    wine-cup,    and 
fondly  I  swore. 
From    my    home    and    my    weeping 
friends  never  to  part. 


The   Fatherland. 


285 


Jly  little  ones  kissed  me  a  thousand 
times  o'er. 
And   my  wife  sobbed  aloud  in  her 
fulness  of  heart 

Stay,   stay    with    us, — rest,    thou    art 
weary  and  worn  ; 
And  fain  was  their  war-broken  soldier 
to  stay — 
J  lilt  sorrow  returned  with  the  dawning 
of  morn. 
And  the  voice  in  my  dreaming  ear 
melted  away. 

Thomas  Campbell. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  HOHEN- 
LINDEN. 
Ox  Linden,  when  the  sun  was  low. 
All  bloodless  lay  the  untrodden  snow  ; 
And  dark  as  winter  was  the  flow 
Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 

15ut  Linden  show'd  another  sight. 
When  the  drum  beat  at  dead  of  night, 
Commanding  fires  of  death  to  Uglit 
The  darkness  of  her  scenery. 

By  torch  and  trumpet  fast  array'd 
Each  horseman  drew  his  battle-blade, 
And  furious  every  charger  neigh'd. 
To  join  the  dreadful  revelry. 

Th  n    shook    the    hiUs,    with    thunder 

riven  ; 
Then  rush'd  the  steed  to  battle  driven  ; 
And,  louder  than  the  bolts  of  heaven, 
Far  flash'd  the  red  artiller}-. 

But  redder  yet  that  light  shall  glow. 
On  Linden's  hills  of  stained  snow  ; 
And  bloodier  yet  the  torrent  flow 
Of  Iser,   rolling  rapidly. 

'Tis  morn  ;   but  scarce  yon  level  sun 
Can  pierce  the  war-cloud  rolling  dun, 
Where  furious  Frank  and  fiery  Hun 
Shout  in  their  sulphurous  canopy. 

'J'he  combat  deepens.     On,  ye  brave  ! 
Who  rush  to  glory  or  the  grave  ! 
Wave,  Munich  !  all  thy  banners  wave  ! 
And  charge  with  all  thy  chivalry  ! 


Few,  few  shall  part  where  many  meet ! 
Tiie  snow  shall  be  their  winding-sheet, 
And  every  turf  beneath  their  feet 
Shall  be  a  soldier's  sepulchre  ! 

Thomas  Campbell. 


NAPOLEON     AND      THE 
ENGLISH       SAILOK       BOY, 

I  LOVE  contemplating — apart 
From  all  his  homicidal  glory — 

The  traits  that  soften  to  our  heart 
Napoleon's  story. 

'Twas  when  his  banners  at  Boulogne 
Armed  in  our  island  every  freeman  ; 

His  navy  chanced  to  capture  one 
Poor  British  seaman. 

They  suffered  him — I  know  not  how— 
Unprisoned  on  the  shore  to  roam  ; 

And  aye  was  bent  his  longing  brow 
On  England's  home. 

His  eye,  methinks,  pursued  the  flight 
Of  birds  to  Britain  half-way  over 

With  envy — they  could  reach  the  white. 
Dear  cliffs  of  Dover. 

A  stormy  midnight  watch,  he  thought. 
Than  this  sojourn  would  have  been 
dearer. 

If  but  the  storm  his  vessel  brought 
To  England  nearer. 

At  last,  when  care  had  banished  sleep. 
He    saw    one    morning — dreaming — 
doting. 

An  empty  hogshead  from  the  deep 
Come  shoreward  floating. 

He  hid  it  in  a  cave,  and  wrought 
The  livelong  day  laborious  ;  lurking, 

Until  he  launched  a  tiny  boat. 
By  mighty  working. 

Heaven  help  us  !  'twas  a  thing  beyond 
Description  wretched  :  such  a  wherry 

Porhaps  ne'er  ventured  on  a  pond. 
Or  crossed  a  ferry. 

For  ploughing  in  the  salt  sea  field. 
It    would    have    made    the    boldest 
shudder ; 

Untarred,  uncompassed,  and  unkeeled, 
No  sail — no  rudder  1 


286 


Poems   for  Children. 


From  neighbouring  woods  he  interlaced 
His  sorry  skiff  with  wattled  willows  ; 

And    thus    equipped    he    would    have 
passed 
The  foaming  billows. 

But   Frenchmen   caught   him   on   the 
beach, 

His  little  Argo  sorely  jeering  ; 
Till  tidings  of  him  chanced  to  reach 

Napoleon's  hearing. 

With  folded  arms  Napoleon  stood, 
Serene  alike  in  peace  and  danger, 

And  in  his  wonted  attitude 
Addressed  the  stranger : 

"  Rash  man,  that  wouldst  yon  channel 
pass 
On     twigs     and    staves    so    rudely 
fashioned  ! 
Thy  heart  with  some  sweet  British  lass 
Must  be  impassioned." 

"  I  have  no  sweetheart,"  said  the  lad  ; 

"  But,  absent  long  from  one  another. 
Great  was  the  longing  that  I  had 

To  see  my  mother." 

"  And  so  thou  shalt !  "  Napoleon  said  ; 

"  Ye've  both  my  favour  fairly  won  : 
A  noble  mother  must  have  bred 

So  brave  a  son." 

He  gave  the  tar  a  piece  of  gold, 

And  with  a  flag  of  truce  commanded 

He  should  be  shipped  to  England  Old, 
And  safely  landed. 

Our  sailor  oft  could  scantily  shift 
To  find  a  dinner  plain  and  hearty  ; 

But  never  changed  the  coin  and  gift 
Of  Bonaparte. 

Thomas  CainpheU. 


With  neck  out-thrust,  you  fancy  how, 
Legs  wide,  arms  locked  behind. 

As  if  to  balance  the  prone  brow 
Oppressive  with  its  mind. 

Just  as,  perhaps,  he  mused,  "  My  plans 

That  soar,  to  earth  may  fall. 
Let  once  my  army-leader  Laimes 

Waver  at  yonder  wall," — 
Out   'twixt   the   battery-smokes   there 
flew 

A  rider,  bouhd  on  bound 
Full-galloping  ;    nor  bridle  drew 

Until  he  reached  the  mound. 

Then  ofiF  there  flung  in  smiling  joy. 

And  held  himself  erect 
By  just  his  horse's  mane,  a  boy : 

You  hardly  could  suspect — 
(So  tight  he  kept  his  lips  compressed. 

Scarce  any  blood  came  tlrro') 
You  looked  twice  ere  you  saw  his  breast 

Was  aU  but  shot  in  two. 

"  Well,"  cried  he,  "  Emperor,  by  God's 
grace 

We've  got  you  Ratisbon  ! 
The  Marshal's  in  the  market-place, 

And  you'll  be  there  anon 
To  see  your  flag-bird  flap  his  vans. 

Where  I,  to  heart's  desire. 
Perched     him  !  "     The     Chief's     eye 
flashed  ;    his  plans 

Soared  up  again  like  fire. 

The  Chief's  eye  flashed  ;   but  presently 

Softened  itself,  as  sheathes 
A  film  the  mother  eagle's  eye 

When  her  bruised  eaglet  breathes  : 
"  You're     wounded  !  "     "  Nay,"     his 
soldier's   pride 

Touched  to  the  quick,  he  said  : 
"  I'm    killed,    sire  !  "    And,   his    Chief 
beside. 

Smiling  the  boy  fell  dead. 

Robert  Browning. 


INCIDENT  OF  THE  FBENCH 
CAMP. 

You  know,  we  French  stormed  Ratis- 
bon : 

A  mile  or  so  away 
On  a  little  mound.  Napoleon 

Stood  on  our  .  terming  day ; 


ADEIiGITHA. 

The  ordeal's  fatal  trumpet  sounded. 
And  sad  pale  Adelgitha  came. 

When     forth     a      valiant     champion 
bounded. 
And  slew  the  slanderer  of  her  fame. 


The   Fatherland. 


28; 


She  wept,  deliver'd  from  her  danger ; 
But   when   he   knelt   to    claim    lier 
glove — 
"  Seek  not,"  she  cried,   "  oh  !   gallant 
stranger. 
For  hapless  Adelgitha's  love. 

"  For  he  is  in  a  foreign  far  land 
Whose  arms  should  now  have  set  me 
free  ; 

And  I  must  wear  the  willow  garland 
For  him  that's  dead  or  fal.se  to  me." 

"  Nay !     say    not    that    his    faith    is 
tainted  !  " 

He  raised  his  vizor — at  the  sight 
She  fell  into  his  arms  and  fainted  ; 

It  was  indeed  her  own  true  knight ! 

Thomas  Cainpbeli. 


THE  SPIiENDOUB,  FALLS  ON 
CASTLE  WALLS. 

The  splendour  falls  on  castle  walls 

And  snowy  summits  old  in  story  : 

The  long  light  shakes  across  the  lakes 

And    the   wild    cataract  leaps   in 

glory. 

Blow,  bugle,  blow,  set  the  wild  echoes 

flying. 
Blow,   bugle ;     answer,   echoes,    d3^ing, 
dying,  dying. 

O  hark,  O  hear  !  how  thin  and  clear. 

And  thinner,  clearer,  farther  going  ! 

O  sweet  and  far  from  cliff  and  scar 

The     horns     of     Elfland     faintly 

blowing  ! 

Blow,    let    us    hear    the    purple    glcnn 

replying  : 
Blow,    bugle ;     answer,   echoes,   dying, 
dying,  dying. 

O  love,  they  die  in  yon  rich  sky. 
They  faint  on  hill  or  field  or  river  : 

Our  echoes  roll  from  soul  to  soul. 
And  grow  for  ever  and  for  ever. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow,  set  the  wild  echoes 

flying. 
And    answer,    echoes,    answer,    dying, 
dying,  dying. 

Lord  Tennyson. 


HOW  THEY  BROUGHT  THE 
GOOD  NEWS  FROM  GHENT 
TO  AIX. 

I  SPRANG  to  the  stirrup,  and  Jori.s,  ami 

he; 
I      galloped,      Dirck      galloped,      we 

galloped  all  three  ; 
"Good  speed!"   cried  the  watch,   as 

the  gate-bolts  undrew  ; 
"  Speed !  "    echoed    the    wall    to    us 

galloping  through  ; 
Bfehind   shut   the   postern,    the   lights 

sank  to  rest. 
And   into   the   midnight   we   galloped 

abreast. 

Not  a  word  to  each  other  ;    we  kept 

the  great  pace 
Neck  by  neck,  stride  by  stride,  never 

changing  our  place  ; 
I  turned  in  my  saddle  and  made  its 

girths  tight, 
Then  shortened  each  stirrup,  and  set 

the  pique  right, 
Rebuckled    the    cheek-strap,    chained 

slacker  the  bit. 
Nor   galloped  less   steadily   Roland   a 

whit. 

'Twas  moonset  at  starting  ;    but  while 

we  drew  near 
Lokeren,  the  cocks  crew,  and  twilight 

dawned  clear  ; 
At  Boom,  a  great  yellow  star  came  out 

to  see  ; 
At  Diiffield,  'twas  morning  as  plain  as 

could  be  ; 
Atid  from  Mecheln  church-steeple  we 

heard  the  half  chime, 
So  Joris  broke  silence  with  "  Yet  there 

is  time  !  " 

At  Aerschot,  up  leaped  of  a  sudden  the 
sun. 

And  against  him  the  cattle  stood  black 
every  one, 

To  stare  through  the  mist  at  us  gallop- 
ing past. 

And  I  saw  my  stout  galloper  Roland  at 
last. 

With  resolute  shoulders,  each  butting 
away 

The  haze,  as  some  bluff  river  headland 
its    pray. 


288 


Poems  for  Children. 


Aud  his  low  head  and  crest,  just  one 
sharp  ear  bent  back 

For  my  voice  and  the  other  piicked 
out  on  his  track  ; 

And  one  eye's  black  intelligence — ever 
that  glance 

O'er  its  white  edge  at  me,  his  own 
master,  askance  ! 

And  the  thick  heavy  spume-flakes 
which  aye  and  anon 

His  fierce  lips  shook  upwards  in  gallop- 
ing on. 

By  Hasselt,  Dirck  groaned  ;    and  cried 

Joris,  "  Stay  spur  ! 
Your  Ross  galloped  bravely,  the  fault's 

not  in  her. 
We'll    remember    at    Aix " — for    one 

heard  the  quick  wheeze 
Of  her  chest,  saw  her  stretched  neck 

and  staggering  knees, 
And  sunk  tail,  and  horrible  heave  of 

the  flank, 
As  down  on  her  haunches  she  shuddered 
and  sank. 

So  we  were  left  galloping,  Joris  and  I, 
Past  Looz  and  past  Tongres,  no  cloud 

in  the  sky  ; 
The  broad  sun  above  laughed  a  pitiless 

laugh, 
'Neath     our    feet    broke     the     brittle 

bright  stubble  like  chaff  ; 
Till    over    by    Dalhem    a    dome-spire 

sprang  white. 
And  "  Gallop,"  gasped  Joris,  "  for  Aix 

is  in  sight !  " 

"  How  they'll  greet  us  !  "  and  all  in  a 
moment  his  roan 

Rolled  neck  and  crop  over  ;  lay  dead 
as  a  stone  ; 

And  there  was  my  Roland  to  bear  the 
whole  weight 

Of  the  news  which  alone  could  save 
Aix  from  her  fate, 

^Vith  his  nostrils  like  pits  full  of  blood 
to  the  brim, 

And  with  circles  of  red  for  his  eye- 
socket's  rim. 

Then  I  cast  loose  my  buff- coat,  each 

holster  let  fall. 
Shook  off  1  oth  my  jack-boots,  let  go 

belt  and  all. 
Stood  up  in  the  stirrup,  leaned,  patted 

his  ear. 


Called  my  Roland  his  pet-name,   my 

horse  without  peer  ; 
Clapped  my  hands,  laughed  and  sang, 

any  noise,  good  or  bad, 
Till  at  length  into  Aix  Roland  galloped 

and  stood. 

And  all  I  remember  is,  friends  flocking 

round 
As  I  sat  with  his  head  'twixt  my  knees 

on  the  ground. 
And   no    voice   but   was   praising   this 

Roland  of  mine. 
As  I  poured  down  his  throat  our  last 

measure  of  wine, 
AVhich  (the  burgesses  voted  by  common 

consent) 
Was  no  more  than  his  due  who  brought 

good  news  from  Ghent. 

Robert  Broivning. 


ALEXANDER    SELKIRK. 

VERSES    SUPPOSED    TO    BE     WRITTEN     BY 

HIM    DURING   HIS    SOLITARY    ABODE 

ON    A    DESERT    ISLAND. 

I  AM  monarch  of  all  I  survey, 

My  right  there  is  none  to  dispute  ; 
From  the  centre  all  round  to  tlie  sea, 

I  am  lord  of  the  fowl  and  the  brute. 
Oh,  Solitude  !  where  are  tlie  charms, 

That  sages  have  seen  in  thy  face  ? 
Better  dwell  in  the  midst  of  alarms. 

Than  reign  in  this  horrible  place. 

I  am  out  of  humanity's  reach, 

I  must  finish  my  journey  alone, 
Never  hear  the  sweet  music  of  speech, 

I  start  at  the  sound  of  my  own. 
The  beasts,  that  roam  over  the  plain, 

My  form  with  indifference  see  ; 
They  are  so  unacquainted  with  man, 

Their  tameness  is  shocking  to  me. 

Society,  friendship,  and  love, 

Divinely  bestowed  upon  man. 
Oh  !  had  I  the  wings  of  a  dove, 

How  soon  I  would  taste  you  again  ! 
My  sorrows  I  then  might  assuage 

In  the  ways  of  religion  and  truth. 
Might  learn  from  the  wisdom  of  age. 

And    be    cheered    by    the    saliiia     of 
youth 


J 


The   Fatherland. 


289 


Religion  !  what  treasure  untold 

Besides  in  that  heavenly  word  ! 
More  precious  than  silver  and  gold. 

Or  all  that  this  earth  can  ntTonl. 
But  the  sound  of  the  churcli-going  l)(ll 

These  valleys  and  rocUs  never  heard. 
Never  sighed  at  the  sound  of  a  knell. 

Or  smiled  when  a  Sabbath  appeared. 

Ye   winds,   that  have   made   nie   your 
sport, 

Convey  to  this  desolate  shore 
Some  cordial  endearing  r(>port 

Of  a  land  I  shall  visit  no  more. 
My  friends,  do  they  now  and  then  send 

A   wish   or  a  thought  after   mc  ? 
O  tell  nie  I  yet  have  a  friend. 

Though  a  friend  I  am  never  to  see. 

How  fleet  is  a  glance  of  the   mind  ! 

Compared  with  the  speed  of  its  flight. 
The  tempest  itself  lags  behind, 

And  the  swift-wingrd  arrows  of  light. 
When  I  think  of  my  own  native  land, 

In  a  moment  I  seem  to  be  there  ; 
But,  alas  !  recollection  at  hand 

Soon  hurries  me  back  to  despair. 

But  the  sea-fowl  is  gone  to  her  nest, 

The  beast  is  laid  down  in  his  lair  ; 
Even  here  is  a  season  of  rest, 
And  I  to  my  cabin  repair. 
There's  mercy  in  every  place. 
And  mercy,  encouraging  thought  I 
Gives  even  affliction  a  grace. 
And  reconciles  man  to  his  lot. 

W  lUiaiii  Vow  per. 


THE  SEA. 

The  sea  !  the  sea  !  the  open  sea  ! 
The  blue,  the  fresh,  the  ever  free  ! 
Without  a  mark,  v.ithout  a  bound. 
It   runneth    the    earth's    wide    regions 

round  ; 
It  plays  \\ith  the  clouds  ;   it  mocks  the 

skies  ; 
Or  like  a  cradled  creature  lies. 

I'm  on  the  sea  !  I'm  on  the  sea  ! 

I  am  Mhere  I  would  ever  be  ; 

With  the  blue  above,  and  the  blue  below. 

And  silence  wheresoe'er  I  go  : 


If  a  storm  should  come  and  awake  the 

deep 
What  matter  ?  I  shall  ride  and  sleep. 

I  love  (oh,  how  I  love  !)  to  ride 

On  the  fierce,  foaming,   bursting  tide. 

When    every    mad    wave    drowns    the 

moon. 
Or  whistles  aloft  his  tempest  tune. 
And  tells  how  goeth  the  world  below. 
And  M'hy  the  south-west  blasts  do  blow. 

I  never  was  on  the  dull,  tame  shore. 
But  I  loved   the  great  sea  more     and 

more, 
And    backwards    flew    to    her    billowy 

breast. 
Like  a  bird  that  seeketh  its  mother's 

nest : 
And  a  mother  she  was  and  is  to  me  ; 
For  I  was  born  on  the  open  sea  ! 

I've  lived  since  then  in  calm  and  strife. 

Full  fifty  summers  a  sailor's  life. 

With  wealth  to  spend,  and  a  power  to 

range, 
But  never  have  sought    nor  sighed  for 

change ; 
And  Death,  whenever  he  comes  to  me. 
Shall  come  on  the  wild  unbounded  s^a  ! 

Barry  Cornwall. 


"TO   SEA  !   TO  SEA!" 

To  sea  !  to  sea  !  the  calm  is  o'er. 

The  wanton  water  leaps  in  sport. 
And  rattles  down  the  pebbly  shore. 
The    dolphin    wheels,   the  sea  cows 
snort ; 
And  unseen  mermaid's  pearly  song 
Comes  bubbling  up,  the  weeds  among. 
Fling  broad  the  sail,  dip  deep  the  oar  : 
To  sea  !  to  sea  !  the  calm  is  o'er. 

To  sea  !  to  sea  !  our  white  winged  bark 
Shall  billowing  cleave  its  watery  way, 

And  with  its  shadow,  fleet  and  dark, 
Break  the  caved  Triton's  azure  day. 

Like  mountain  eagle  soaring  light 

O'er  antelopes  on  Alpine  height. 

The   anchor   heaves  !    the  ship  swings 
free  ! 

Our  sails  swell  full  I     To  sea  !  to  sea  ! 

Thomas  Lovell  Beddoes. 


290 


Poems  for  Children. 


THE   OCEAN. 

Beautiful,  sublime,  and  glorious  ; 

Mild,  majestic,  foaming,  free — 
Over  time  itself  victorious, 

Image  of  et«rnity  1 

Sun,  and  moon,  and  stars  sliine  o'er  thee, 
See  thy  surface  ebb  and  flow  ; 

Yet  attempt  not  to  explore  thee 
In  thy  soundless  depths  below 

Whether    morning's    splendours   steep 
thee 

With  the  rainbow's  glowing  grace, 
Tempests  rouse,  or  navies  sweep  thee, 

'Tis  but  for  a  moment's  space. 

Earth — her  valleys  and  her  mountains, 
Mortal  man's  behests  obey  ; 

Thy  unfathomable  fountains 

Scoff  his  search,  and  scorn  his  sway. 

Such  art  thou^ — stupendous  ocean  ! 

But,  if  overwhelmed  by  thee, 
Can  we  think,  -without  emotion, 

What  m\ist  thy  Creator  be  ? 

Bernard  Barton. 


THE  SEA-DEEPS. 

Deeper  than  the  narwhal  sinketh. 
Deeper  than  the  sea-horse  drinketh. 
There  are  miles  and  miles  of  sea, 
Where  darkness  reigns  eternally. 
Nor  length  of  line,  nor  sounding  lead. 
Have  ever  reached  the  deep  sea- bed  ; 
Nor  aught  again  beheld  the  light. 
Which    touched   that  land   of   endless 

night. 
Above,  a  ship  might  strike  and  ground, 
Below,  no  bottom  could  be  found  ; 
Though,  o'er  the  rocks  the  white  waves 

hiss, 
Unfathomed  lay  the  dark  abyss. 
Depths   measureless — rocks  that    were 

hurled 
From  the  foundations  of  the  world. 
Deeper  than  plummet  e'er  can  go 
Lie  those  grim  endless  depths  below 
Which  neither  wind  nor  wave  come  near 
For  all  is  dai'k  and  silent  there. 
Perchance,    huge    monsters,    feed    and 

sleep 


Below  that  black  and  soundless  deep  ; 
Monsters  of  such  weight  and  size. 
That  they  have  no  power  to  raise  : 
The  mighty  kraken,   which  they  say. 
Will  heave  upon  that  awful  day. 
When  the  last  trumpet's  startUng  sound 
Shall  pierce  the  inmost  depths  profound ; 
And  many  a  league  of  ocean  part. 
While  his  huge  bulk  he  doth  uprear, 
And  hke  an  island  vast  appear. 
Such  monstrous  things,  they  say,  now 

sleep 
Within  the  caverns  of  the  deep. 

Thomas  Miller. 


THE  NORTHEKN  SEAS. 

Up  !  up  !  let  us  a  voyage  take  ; 

Why  sit  we  here  at  ease  ? 
Find  us  a  vessel  tight  and  snug. 

Bound  for  the  northern  seas. 

I  long  to  see  the  Northern  Lights, 
With  their  rushing  splendours,  fly, 

Like  living  things,  with  flaming  \\ings. 
Wide  o'er  the  wondrous  sky. 

I  long  to  see  those  icebergs  vast. 

With  heads  all  crowned  with  snow, 

Whose  green  roots  sleep  in  the   aM  fiii 
deep. 
Two  hundred  fathoms  low. 

I  long  to  hear  the  thundering  crash 

Of  their  terrific  fall ; 
And  the  echoes  fi-om  a  thousand  cliffs 

Like  lonely  voices  call. 

There  shall  we  see  the  fierce  white  bear, 

The  sleepy  seals  aground. 
And  the  spouting  whales  that  to  and  fro 

Sail  with  a  dreary  sound. 

There  may  we  tread  on  depths  of  ice, 
That  the  hairy  mammoth  hide  ; 

Perfect  as  when,  in  times  of  old, 
The  mighty  creature  died. 

And  while  the  unsetting  sun  shines  on 
Through  the  still  heaven's  deep  blue, 

We'll  traverse  the  azure  waves  the  herds 
Of  the  dread  sea-horse  to  view. 

We'll  pass  the  shores  of  solemn  pine. 
Where  wolves  and  black  bears  prowl. 


The   Fatherland. 


291 


And  away  to  the  rocky  isles  of  mist 
To  rouse  the  northern  fowl. 

Up  then  shall  start  ten  thousand  wings 
With  a  rushing  whistling  din  ; 

Up  shall  the  auk  and  fulmar  start — 
All  but  the  fat  penguin. 


And  there  in  the  wastes  of  the  silent  sky, 
With  the  silent  earth  below . 

We  shall  see  far  off  to  his  lonely  rock 
The  lonely  eagle  go. 

Then  softly,  softly  will  we  tread 

By  island  streams,  to  see 
Where  the  pehcan  of  the  silent  north 

Sits  there  all  silently. 

William  Ilowitt, 


THE  SHIP  IS  READY. 

Fare-thee-wei.i.  !  the  ship  is  ready. 
And  the  breeze  is  fresh  and  steady. 
Hands  are  fast  the  anchor  weighing  ; 
High  in  air  the  streamer's  playing. 
Spread  the  sails — the  waves  are  swell- 
ing 
Proudly  round  thy  buoyant  dwelling. 
Fare- thee- well !  and  when  at  sea, 
Think  of  those  who  sigh  for  thee. 

When  from  land  and  home  receding 
And  from  hearts  that  ache  to  bleeding, 
Think  of  those  behind,  who  love  thee, 
While  the  sun  is  bright  above  thee  ! 
Then,  as  down  to  ocean  glancing. 
In  the  waves  his  rays  are  dancing 
Think  how  long  the  night  will  be 
To  the  eyes  that  weep  for  thee. 

When  the  lonely  night-watch  keeping. 
All  below  thee  still  and  sleeping, — 
As  the  needle  points  the  quarter. 
O'er  the  wide  and  trackless  water, 
Let  thy  vigils  ever  iind  thee 
Mindful  of  the  friends  behind  thee  ! 
Let  thy  bosom's  magnet  be 
Turned  to  those  who  wake  for  thee. 

When  with  slow  and  gentle  motion, 
Heaves  the  bosom  of  the  ocean, — 
While  in  peace  thy  bark  is  riding, 
And  the  silver  moon  is  gliding 


O'er  the  sky  with  tranquil  splendour. 
Where  the  shining  hosts  attend  her : 
Let  the  brightest  visions  be. 
Country,  home,  and  friends,  to  thee  ! 

When  the  tempest  hovers  o'er  thee. 
Danger,  wreck,  anil  death  before  thee  ; 
While  the  sword  of  fire  is  gleaming, 
AVild  the  winds,  the  torrent  streaming. 
Then,  a  pious  suppliant  bending. 
Let  thy  thoughts,  to  Heaven  ascending. 
Reach  the  mercy-seat,  to  be 
Met  by  prayers  that  rise  for  thee  ! 

Hannah  Flugy  Gould. 


THE   SAILOR. 

Thou  that  hast  a  daughter 

For  one  to  woo  and  wed, 
Give  her  to  a  husband 

With  snow  upon  his  head  ; 
Oh,  give  her  to  an  old  man. 

Though  little  joy  it  be, 
Before  the  best  young  sailor 

That  sails  upon  the  sea ! 

How  lucldess  is  the  sailor 

When  sick  and  like  to  die ! 
He  sees  no  tender  mother. 

No  sweetheart  standing  by. 
Onlj'  the  captain  speaks  to  him — 

Stand  up,  stand  up,  young  man, 
And  steer  the  ship  to  haven. 

As  none  beside  thee  can. 

Thou  sayst  to  me,  "  Stand,  stand  up; ' 

I  say  to  thee,  take  hold, 
Lift  me  a  little  from  the  deck. 

My  hands  and  feet  are  cold. 
And  let  my  head,  I  pray  thee, 

With  handkerchiefs  be  bound  : 
There,   take  my  love's  own  handUer 
cliief. 

And  tie  it  tightly  round. 

Now  bring  the  chart,  the  doleful  chart 

See  where  these  mountains  meet — 
The  clouds  are  thick  around  their  head. 

The  mists  around  their  feet : 
Cast  anchor  here  ;   'tis  deep  and  safe 

Within  the  rockj'  cleft  ; 
■J'he  little  anchor  on  the  right. 

The  great  one  on  the  left. 


19* 


292 


Poems  for  Children. 


And  now  to  thee,  O  captain, 

Most  earnestly  I  pray, 
That  they  may  never  bury  me 

In  chiirch  or  cloister  gray  ; — ■ 
But  on  the  windy  sea-beach, 

At  the  ending  of  the  land. 
All  on  the  surfy  sea-beach, 

Deep  down  into  the  sand. 

For  there  will  come  the  sailors, 

Their  voices  I  shall  hear. 
And  at  casting  of  the  anchor 

The  yo-ho  loud  and  clear  ; 
And  at  hauling  of  the  anchor 

The  yo-ho  and  the  cheer — 
Farewell,  my  love,  for  to  thy  bay 

I  nevermore  may  steer ! 

William  Allinp-hain. 


THE  SAILOB. 

The  sailor  sighs   as  sinks   his   native 
shore. 
As    all    its    lessening    turrets    bluely 
fade  ; 
He  climbs  the   mast  to  feast  his   eyes 
once  more. 
And  busy  fancy  fondly  lends  her  aid. 

Ah  !  now,  each  dear,  domestic  scene  he 
knew. 
Recalled  and  cherished  in  a  foreign 
clime, 
Charms  with  the  magic  of  a  moonlight 
view. 
Its  colours  mellowed,  not    impaired 
by  time. 

True  as  the  needle,  homeward  points 
his  heart, 
Through  all  the  horrors  of  the  stormy 
main  ; 
This,  the  last  wish  that  would  with  life 
depart. 
To  meet  the  smile  of  her  he  loves 
again. 

When    Morn    fu-st    faintly    draws    her 
silver  hne. 
Or  Eve's  grey  cloud  descends  to  drink 
the  wave ; 
When  sea  and  sky  in  midnight-dark- 
ness join. 
Still,  still  he  sees  the   })arting   look 
she  gave. 


Her  gentle  spirit   hghtly  hovering  o'er. 
Attends  his  httle  bark  from  pole  to 
pole  ; 
And,  when  the  beating  billows  round 
him  roar. 
Whispers  sweet  hope  to  soothe  his 
troubled  soul. 

Carved  is  her  name  in  many  a  spicy 
grove 
In   many  a  plantain-forest,   waving 
wide  ; 
Where  dusky  youths  in  painted  plumage 
rove, 
And  giant  palms  o'er-arch  the  golden 
tide. 

But  lo  !  at. last  he  comes  with  crowded 
sail ! 
Lo,  o'er  the  cliff  what  eager  figures 
bend  ! 
And  hark,  what  mingled  murmurs  swell 
the  gale  ! 
In  each  he  hears  the  welcome  of  a 
friend. 

— 'Tis  she,  'tis  she  herself !  she  waves 
her  hand  ! 
Soon  is  the  anchor  cast,  the  canvas 
furled  ; 
Soon  through  the  whitening  surge  he 
springs  on  land. 
And  clasps  the  maid  he  singled  from 
the  world. 

Samuel  Rogers. 


A  SAILOB'S  LIFE. 

How  gaily  a  sailor's  life  passes 
Who  roams  o'er  the  watery  main  ; 

No  treasure  he  ever  amasses. 

But  cheerfully  spends  all  his  gain. 

The  world  is  a  beautiful  garden. 

Enriched  with  the  blessings  of  life  ; 

The  toiler  with  plenty  rewarding, 
AVhich  plenty  too  often  breeds  strife. 

When  terrible  tempests  assail  us. 
And  mountainous  billows  alfright, 

Xo  grandeur  or  wealth  can  avail  us, 
But  skilful  industry  steers  right. 

The  various  blessings  of  Nature 
In  various  countries  we  try  ; 

No  mortal  than  us  can  be  greater. 
Who  merrily  live  till  we  die. 


The  Fatherland. 


293 


THE  SAILOR'S  ADIEU. 
Then  fare  thee  well  !  my  clear  loved  isle, 

Once  more,  once  more,  adieu. 
See  where  yon  gallant  vessel's  moor'd, 

To  bear  me  far  from  you. 

Mark  how  the  breeze.s  fill  her  sails. 

And  gallantly  she'll  ride 
Thro'  heavy  seas  and  stormy  gale."?, 

For  England's  boast  and  pride. 

Tho'  ever  first  in  danger's  hour. 

The  British  sailor's  found. 
Where  cannon  roar,  and  tempests  lour, 

He  thinks  on  Enghsh  ground. 

The  sails  are  set,  the  signals  made. 

Yet  still  I  lingering  stand, 
To  view  the  blue  shores  as  they  fade. 

Farewell  my  native  land. 


WINDLASS  SONG. 

Heave    at    the    windlass  ! — Heave  O, 

cheerly,  men  ! 
Heave  all  at  once,  with  a  will  ' 
The  tide  quickly  making, 
Our  cordage  a-creaking. 
The  water  has  put  on  a  frill, 

Heave  O  ! 

Fare    you    well,    sweethearts  ! — Heave 
O,  cheerly,  men  ! 
Fare  you  well,  frolic  and  sport ! 
The  good  ship  all  ready 
Each  dog-vane  is  steady. 
The  wind  blowing  dead  out  of  port. 
Heave  O  ! 


Once 


Heave    O, 


in     blue     water 
cheerly,  men  ! 
Blow  it  from  north  or  from  south  ; 
She'll  stand  to  it  tightly. 
And  curtsey  politely. 
And  carry  a  bone  in  her  mouth. 
Heave    O  ! 

Short  cruise  or  long  cruise — Heave  O, 
cheerly,  men  ! 
Jolly  Jack  Tar  thinks  it  one. 
No  latitude  dreads  he 
Of  White,  Black,  or  Red  Sea, 
Great  icebergs,  or  tropical  sun, 
Heave    0 1 


One  other  turn,  and  Heave  O,  cheerly, 
men  ! 
Heave,  and  good-bye  to  the  shore  ! 
Our  money,  how  went  it  ? 
We  shared  it  and  spent  it ; 
Next  year  we'll  come  back  with  some 
more. 

Heave  O ! 

William  Allin^ham, 


A  WET   SHEET  AND  A 
FLOWING  SEA. 

A  WET  sheet  and  a  flowing  sea, 

A  wind  that  follows  fast. 
And  fills  the  white  and  rustling  sail. 

And  bends  the  gallant  mast ; 
And  bends  the  gallant  mast,  my  boys. 

While,  like  the  eagle  free. 
Away  the  good  ship  flies,  and  leaves 

Old  England  on  the  lee. 

O  for  a  soft  and  gentle  wind  ! 

I  heard  a  fair  one  cry  ; 
But  give  to  me  the  snoring  breeze 

And  M'hite  waves  heaving  high  ; 
And  white  waves  heaving  high,  my  boys, 

The  good  ship  tight  and  free — 
The  world  of  waters  is  our  home, 

And  merry  men  are  we. 

There's  tempest  in  yon  horned  moon, 

And  lightning  in  yon  cloud  ; 
And  hark  the  music  mariners  ! 

The  wind  is  piping  loud  ; 
The  wind  is  piping  loud,  my  boys, 

The  lightning  flashing  free — 
Whde  the  hollow  oak  our  palace  is. 

Our  heritage  the  sea 

Allan  Cunninglmm. 


TOM  BOWLING. 

Here,    a   sheer   hulk,   lies   poor   Tom 
Bowling, 

The  darhng  of  our  crew  ; 
No  more  he'll  hear  the  tempest  howling. 

For  death  has  broach'd  him  to. 
His  form  was  of  the  manhest  beauty. 

His  heart  was  kind  and  soft ; 
Faithful,  below,  he  did  his  duty  ; 

But  now  he's  gone  aloft. 


294 


Poems  for  Children. 


Tom  never  from  his  word  departed, 

His  virtues  were  so  rare. 
His  friends  were  many  and  true-hearted, 

His  Poll  was  kind  and  fair  : 
And  then  he'd  sing,  so  bhthe  and  jolly, 

Ah,  many's  the  time  and  oft ! 
But  mirth  is  tum'd  to  melancholy. 

For  Tom  is  gone  aloft. 

Yet    shall    poor    Tom    find    pleasant 
weather. 
When  He,  who  all  commands, 
Shall  give,  to  call  Ufe's  crew  together, 

The  word  to  pipe  "  all  hands." 
Thus    Death,     who    kings    and    tars 
despatches. 
In  vain  Tom's  hfe  has  doff'd  : 
For  though  his  body's  under  hatches. 
His  soul  has  gone  aloft. 

Charles  JDibden, 


THE  TAR  FOR  AIiI. 

WEATHERS. 

I  sail'd  from  the  Downs  in  the  Nancy, 

My  jib  how  she  smack'd  through  the 
breeze  ! 
She's  a  vessel  as  tight  to  my  fancy 

As  ever  sail'd  on  the  salt  seas. 
So  adieu  to  the  white  chffs  of  Britain, 

Our  girls  and  our  dear  native  shore  ! 
For  if  some  hard  rock  we  should  spht  on. 

We  shall  never  see  them  any  more. 
But  sailors  were  born  for  all  weathers. 

Great  guns  let  it  blow,  high  or  low. 
Our  duty  keeps  us  to  Our  tethers. 

And  where  the  gale  drives  we  must  go. 

When    we    entered    the    Straits     of 
Gibraltar 
I  verily  thought  she'd  have  sunk. 
For  the  wind  began  so  for  to  alter. 

She  yaw'd  just  as  tho'  she  was  drunk. 
The  squall  tore  the  mainsail  to  shivers. 
Helm    a-weather,  the   hoarse    boat- 
swain cries  ; 
Brace    the   foresail    athwart,   see   she 
quivers, 
As  through  the  rough  tempest  she 
flies. 
But  sailors  were  born  for  all  weahters, 

Great  guns  let  it  blow,  high  or  low. 
Our  duty  keeps  us  to  our  tethers. 
And  where  the  gale  drives  we  must  go. 


The  .storm  came  on  thicker  and  faster. 

As  black  just  as  pitch  was  the  sky. 
When  truly  a  doleful  disaster 

Befel  three  poor  sailors  and  I. 
Ben  Bunthne,  Sara  Shroud,  and  Dick 
Handsail, 

By  a  blast  that  came  furious  and  hard. 
Just  while  we  were  furling  the  mainsail. 

Were  every  soul  swept  from  the  yard. 
But  sailors  were  born  for  all  weathers. 

Great  guns  let  it  blow,  high  or  low. 
Our  duty  keeps  us  to  our  tethers. 

And  where  the  gale  drives  we  must  go. 

Poor  Ben,  Sam  and  Dick  cried  peccavi. 

As  for  I,  at  the  risk  of  my  neck. 
While  they  sank  down  in  peace  to  old 
Davy, 

Caught  a  rope,  and  so  landed  on  deck. 
Well,  what  would  you  have  ?     We  were 
stranded. 

And  out  of  a  fine  jolly  crew 
Of   three   hundred   that   sail'd,   never 
landed 

But  I,  and  I  think,  twenty-two. 
But  sailors  were  born  for  all  weathers. 

Great  guns  let  it  blow,  high  or  low. 
Our  duty  keeps  us  to  our  tethers. 

And  where  the  gale  drives  we  must  go. 

Charles  Dibden. 


THE   BAY  OF  BISCAY. 

Loud  roared  the  dreadful  thunder. 

The  rain  a  deluge  showers. 
The  clouds  were  rent  asunder 

By  hghtning's  vivids  powers  ; 
The  night  both  drear  and  dark. 

Our  poor  devoted  bark. 
Till  next  day,  there  she  lay. 

In  the  Bay  of  Biscay,  0 1 

Now  dashed  upon  the  billow. 

Our  opening  timbers  creak ; 
Each  fears  a  watery  pillow,— 

None  stops  the  dreadful  leak ; 
To  cling  to  slippery  shrouds 

Each  breathless  seaman  crowds. 
As  she  lay,  till  the  day. 

In  the  Bay  of  Biscay,  O  I 


At  length  the  wished-for  morrow. 
Broke  through  the  hazy  sky ; 

Absorbed  in  silent  sorrow. 
Each  heaved  a  bitter  sigh ; 


\ 


The  Fatherland. 


295 


The  dismal  wreck  to  view, 
Struck  horror  to  the  crew, 

A3  she  lay,  on  that  day, 
In  the  bay  of  Biscay,  0  ! 

Her  yielding  timbers  sever, 

Her  pitchy  seams  are  rent. 
When  Heaven,  all  bounteous  ever  ; 

Its  boundless  mercy  sent ; 
A  sail  in  sight  appears. 

We  hail  her  with  three  cheers  ; 
Now  we  sail,  with  the  gale 

Fiom  the  Bay  of  Biscay,  0  ! 

Andrew  Cheiry. 


For  some  bleak  pittance  e'er  compelled 

to  roam  ; 
Few  hearts  to  cheer  him  through   his 

dangerous  life, 
And  none  to  aid  him  in  the  stormy 

strife  ; 
Companion  of  the  sea  and  silent  air. 
The  lonely  fisher  thus  must  ever  fare  ; 
Without  the  comfort,  hope — with  scarce 

a  friend. 
He  looks  through  life  and  only  see*  its 

end  I 

Barry  Cornwall. 


THE  FISHING-BOAT. 

GOING  OUT. 

Briskly  blows  the  evening  gale. 

Fresh  and  free  it  blows  : 
Blessings  on  the  fishing  boat, 

How  merrily  she  goes  ! 
Christ  He  loved  the  fisherman ; 

Walldng  by  the  sea. 
How  He  blessed  the  fishing-boats 

Down  in  Galilee  ! 
Dark  the  night,  and  wild  the  wave, 

Christ  the  boat  is  keeping  ; 
Trust  in  Him,  and  have  no  fear. 

Though  He  seemeth  sleeping. 

COMING  IK. 

Brislily  blows  the  morning  breeze, 

Fresh  and  strong  it  blows  ; 
Blessings  on  the  fishing-boat. 

How  steadily  she  goes ! 
Christ  He  loved  the  fisherman. 

And  he  blessed  the  net 
Which  the  hopeless  fishers  throw 

In  (iennesaret. 
He  blessed  our  going  out. 

Blessed,  too,  our  returning  ; 
Gave  \is  laden  nets  at  night, 

And  fair  wind  in  the  morning. 

Mary   Hoiciit. 


THE  FISHEBMAN. 

A  PKRILOUS  hfe,  and  sad  as  life  may  be, 
Kaih  the  lone  fisher,  on  the  lonely  sea, 
(Jer  tlie  wild  waters  labouring  far  from 
home, 


HOWS  MY  BOY  P 

"  Ho,  sailor  of  the  sea  ! 

How's  my  boy — my  boy  ?  " 

"  What's  your  boy's  name,  good  wife. 

And  in  what  good  ship  sail'd  he  ?  " 

"  My  boy  John — 

He  that  went  to  sea— 

What  care  I  for  the  ship,  sailor  ? 

My  boy's  my  boy  to  me. 

"  You  come  back  from  sea 
And  not  know  my  John  ? 
I    might    as    well    have    asked    some 

landsman 
Yonder  down  in  town. 
There's  not  an  ass  in  all  the  parish 
But  he  knows  my  John. 

"  How's  my  boy — my  boy  ? 

And  unless  you  let  me  know, 

I'll  swear  you  are  no  sailor, 

Blue  jacket  or  no. 

Brass  button  or  no,  sailor. 

Anchor  and  crown  or  no  ! 

Sure  his  ship  was  the  Jolly  Briton." 

"  Speak  low,   woman,  speak  low  !  " 

"  And  why  should  I  speak  low,  sailor. 

About  ray  own  boy  John  ? 

If  I  was  loud  as  I  am  proud 

I'd  sing  him  o'er  the  town  ! 

Why  should  I  speak  low,  sailor  ?  " 

"  That  good  ship  went  down." 

'■  How's  my  boy — my  boy  ? 
What  care  I  for  the  ship,  sailor, 
I  never  was  aboard  her. 
Be  she  afloat,  or  be  she  agroimd. 
Sinking  or  swimming,  I'll  be  bound, 


296 


Poems  for  Children. 


Her  owners  can  afford  ber  ! 

I  say,  how's  my  John  ?  " 

"  Every  man  on  board  went  down. 

Every  man  aboard  her." 

"  How's  my  boy — my  boy  ? 
What  care  I  for  tVe  men,  sailor  7 
I'm  not  their  mother — 
How's  my  boy — my  boy  ? 
Tell  me  of  him  and  no  other ! 
How's  my  boy — my  boy  ?  " 

Sydney  Dobdl. 


THE   SAIIiOB'S  MOTHER. 

One  morning  (raw  it  was  and  wet 

A  foggy  day  in  winter  time) 

A  woman  on  the  road  I  met. 

Not  old,  though  something  past  her 

prime  : 
Majestic    in    her    person,    tall    and 

straight ; 
And  like  a  Roman's  matron  was  her 

mien  and  gait. 

The  ancient  spirit  is  not  dead  : 
Old  times,  thought  I,  are  breathing 

there  ; 
Proud  was  I  that  my  country  bred 
Such  strength,  a  dignity  so  fair  ; 
She  begged  an  alms,  like  one  in  poor 

estate  : 
I  looked  at  her  again,  nor  did  my  pride 

abate. 

When  from   these  lofty  thoughts   I 

M'oke, 
"  What  is  it,"  said  I,  "  that  you  bear, 
Beneath  the  covert  of  your  cloak, 
Protected  from  this  cold  damp  air  ?  " 
She     answe  ed,     soon     as     she     the 
question  heard 
"  A  simple  burden,  Sir,  a  little  singing- 
bird." 

And,  thus  continuing,  she  said, 
"  I  had  a  son,  who  many  a  day 
Sailed  on  the  seas,  but  he  is  dead  ; 
In  Denmark  he  was  cast  away  ; 
And  I  have  travelled  many  miles  to 
see 
f  aught  which  he  had  owned  might 
still  remain  for  me. 


"  The  bird  and  cage  they  both  were 

his  ; 
'Twas  my  son's  bird  :    and  neat  and 

trim 
He  kept  it ;  many  vo5'ages 
This  singing-bird  had  gone  with  him  : 
When  last  he  sail'd,  he  left  the  bird 

behind  : 
From  bodings,  as  might  be,  that  himg 

upon  his  mind. 

"  He  to  a  fellow-lodger's  care 
Had  left  it,  to  be  watched  and  fed. 
And  pipe  its  song  in  safety  ; — there 
I  found  it  when  my  son  was  dead  : 
And  now,  God  help  me  for  my  little 

wit  ! 
I  bear  it  with  me.  Sir  : — he  took  so  much 

delight  in  it." 

William  Wordsworth. 


SONG   OF    THE    EMIGRANTS   IN 
BERMUDAS. 

Where  the  remote   Bermudas  ride 
In  the  ocean's  bosom  imespied, 
From  a  small  boat  that  row'd  along 
The  listening  winds  received  this  song  : 
"  What   should  we   do    but   sing    His 

praise 
That  led  us  through  the  watery  maze 
Unto  an  isle  so  long  unknown, 
And  yet  far  kinder  than  our  own  ? 
Where  He  the  huge  sea  monsters  wracks 
That  lift  the  deep  upon  their  backs. 
He  lands  us  on  a  grassy  stage. 
Safe   from   the   storms,    and   prelate's 

rage : 
He  gave  us  this  eternal  spring 
Which  here  enamels  everything. 
And  sends  the  fowls  to  us  in  care 
On  daily  visits  through  the  air. 
He  hangs  in  shades  the  orange  bright 
Like  golden  lamps  in  a  green  night. 
And  does  in  the  pomegranates  close 
Jewels  more  rich  than  Ormus  shows  • 
He  makes  the  tigs  our  mouths  to  meet, 
And  throws  the  melons  at  our  feet ; 
But  apples  plants  of  such  a  price, 
Xo  tree  could  ever  bear  them  twice  ! 
With  cedars  chosen  by  his  hand 
From  Lebanon  he  stores  the  land  ; 
And  makes  the  hollow  seas  that  roar 
Proclaim  the  ambergris  on  shore. 


The   Fatherland. 


207 


He  cast  (of  which  we  rather  boast) 
The  Gospel's  pearl  upon  our  coast ; 
And  in  these  rocks  for  us  did  frame 
A  temple  where  to  sound  His  name. 
O  let  our  voice  His  praise  exalt 
Till  it  arrive  at  Heaven's  vault, 
M'hich  then  perhaps  rebounding  may 
Echo  beyond  the  Mexiquo  bay  !  " 
— Thus  sung  they  in  the  English  boat 
A  holy  and  a  cheerful  note  : 
And  all  the  way,  to  guide  their  chime, 
^Vith  faUing  oars  they  kept  the  time. 

Andrew  Marvell. 


THE   CAVALIER'S   SON&. 

A  STEED  !   a  steed  of  matchless  speed, 

A  sword  of  metal  keen  ! 
All  else  to  nol  le  hearts  is  dross. 

All  else  on  earth  is  mean. 

The  neigliing  of  the  war-horse  proud, 
The  rolling  of  the  drum. 


The  clangour  of  the  trumpet  loud. 
Be  sounds  from  heaven  that  come. 

And    oh !     the     thundering    press    of 
knights 

Whenas  their  war  cries  swell. 
May  tole  from  heaven  an  angel  bright, 

And  rouse  a  fiend  from  hell. 

Then     mount!      then     mount,     brave 
gallants,  all. 

And  don  your  helms  amain  : 
Death's  couriers,  Fame  and  Honour, 

Call  us  to  the  field  again. 

No  shrewish  tears  shall  fill  our  eye 
When  the  sword-hilt's  in  our  hand, — 

Heart-whole    we'll   part,    and   no  whit 
sigh 
For  the  fairest  of  the  land  ! 

Let  piping  swain,  and  craven  wight. 

Thus  weep  and  puling  cry. 
Our  business  is  like  men  to  fight. 

And  hero-like  to  die  ! 

William  Motherwell. 


\ 


BALLADS. 


THE  BABES  IN  THE  WOOD. 

Now  ponder  well,  you  parents  dear. 

These  words  which  I  shall  write  ; 
A  doleful  story  you  shall  hear. 

In  time  brought  forth  to  light, 
A  gentleman  of  good  account 

In  Norfolk  dwelt  of  late. 
Who  did  in  honour  far  surmount 

Most  men  of  his  estate. 

Sore  sick  he  was,  and  like  to  die. 

No  help  his  life  could  save  ; 
His  wife  by  him  as  sick  did  lie, 

And  both  possessed  one  grave. 
No  love  between  these  two  was  lost. 

Each  was  to  other  kind  ; 
In  love  they  lived,  in  love  they  died. 

And  left  two  babes  behind. 

The  one  a  fine  and  pretty  boy, 

Not  passing  three  years  old  ; 
The  other  a  girl  more  young  than  he. 

And  framed  in  beauty's  mould. 
The  father  left  his  little  son. 

As  plainly  doth  appear. 
When  he  to  perfect  age  should  come. 

Three  hundred  pounds  a  year. 

And  to  his  little  daughter,  Jane, 

Five  hundred  pounds  in  gold, 
To  be  paid  down  on  marriage-day. 

Which  might  not  be  controlled. 
But  if  the  children  chance  to  die 

Ere  they  to  age  should  come. 
Their  uncle  should  possess  their  wealtli  ; 

For  80  the  will  did  run. 

"  Now,  brother,"  said  the  dying  man, 
"  Look  to  my  children  dear  ; 

Be  good  unto  my  boy  and  girl. 
No  friends  have  e  se  they  here  : 


To  God  and  you  I  recommend 
My  children  dear  this  day ; 

But  little  while  be  sure  we  have 
Within  this  world  to  stay. 

"  You  must  be  father  and  mother  both, 

And  uncle  all  in  one  ; 
God  knows  what  will  become  of  them 

When  I  am  dead  and  gone." 
With  that  bespake  their  mother  dear, 

"  Oh  brother  kind,"  quoth  she, 
"  You  are  the  man  must  bring  our  babes 

To  wealth  or  misery : 

"  And  if  you  keep  them  carefully. 

Then  God  will  you  reward  ; 
But  if  you  otherwise  should  deal, 

God  will  your  deeds  regard." 
With  lips  as  cold  as  any  stone. 

They  kissed  their  children  small : 
"  God    bless    you    both,    my    children 
dear !  " 

With  that  the  tears  did  fall. 

These  speeches  then  their  brother  spoke. 

To  this  sick  couple  there  : 
"  The  keeping  of  your  little  ones. 

Sweet  sister,  do  not  fear : 
God  never  prosper  me  nor  mine. 

Nor  ought  else  that  I  have. 
If  I  do  wrong  your  children  dear, 

WJicn  you  are  laid  in  grave." 

The  parents  being  dead  and  gone. 

The  children  home  he  takes, 
And  brings  them  straight  imto  his  house. 

Where  much  of  them  he  makes, 
lie  had  not  kept  these  pretty  babes 

A  twelvemonth  and  a  day, 
But,  for  their  wealth,  he  did  devise 

To  make  them  both  away. 


Ballads. 


299 


He  bargained  with  two  ruffians  strong. 

Which  were  of  furious   mood. 
That  they  should  take  these  children 
young. 

And  slay  them  in  a  wood. 
He  told  his  wife  an  artful  tale. 

He  would  the  chiUlren  send. 
To  be  brcnight  up  in  fair  London, 

With  one  that  was  his  friend. 

Away  then  went  those  pretty  babea 

Rejoicing  at  their  tide, 
Rejoicing  in  a  merry  mind, 

They  should  on  cock-horse  ride. 
They  prate  and  prattle  pleasantly 

As  they  rode  on  the  way, 
To  those  that  should  their  butchers  be, 

And  work  their  lives'  decay. 


Thus  wandered  these  poor  innocents. 

Till  death  did  end  their  grief  ; 
In  one  another's  arms  they  died. 

As  wanting  due  relief : 
No  burial  this  pretty  pair 

Of  any  man  receives. 
Till  Robin  Redbreast  piously 

Did  cover  them  with  leaves. 

And  now  the  heavy  wrath  of  God 

Upon  their  uncle  fell ; 
Yea,  fearful  fiends  did  haunt  his  house. 

His  conscience  felt  an  hell : 
His  barns  were  fired,   his  goods  con- 
sumed. 

His  lands  were  barren  made. 
His  cattle  died  within  the  field. 

And  nothing  with  him  stayed. 


So  that  the  pretty  speech  they  had 

Made  Murder's  heart  relent ; 
And  they  that  undertook  the  deed 

Full  sore  did  now  repent. 
Yet  one  of  them  more  liard  of  heart 

Did  vow  to  do  his  charge. 
Because  the  wretch  that  hired  him 

Had  paid  him  very  large. 


And  in  a  voyage  to  Portugal 

Two  of  his  sons  did  die  ; 
And  to  conclude,  himself  was  brought 

To  want  and  misery  : 
He  pawned  and  mortgaged  all  his  land 

Ere  seven  years  came  about ; 
And  now  at  length  this  wicked  act 

Did  by  this  means  come  out : 


The  other  won't  agree  thereto. 

So  here  they  fall  to  strife  ; 
With  one  another  they  did  fight. 

About  the  children's  life  ; 
And  he  that  was  of  mildest  mood 

Did  slay  the  other  tliere, 
Within  an  unfrequented  wood  ; 

The  babes  did  quake  for  fear  | 


The  fellow  that  did  take  in  hand 

These  children  for  to  kill. 
Was  for  a  robbery  judged  to  die. 

Such  was  God's  blessed  will ; 
So  did  confess  the  very  truth. 

As  here  hath  been  displayed  ; 
Their  uncle  having  died  in  gaol. 

Where  he  for  debt  was  laid. 


He  took  the  children  by  the  hand. 

Tears  standing  in  their  eye. 
And  bade  them  straightway  follow  him 

And  look  they  did  not  cry. 
And  two  long  miles  he  led  them  on, 

Wilde  they  for  food  complain  ; 
"  Stay  here,"  quoth  he  ;     "  I'll  bring 
you   bieid 

When  I  come  back  again." 


You  that  executors  be  made 

And  overseers  eke 
Of  children  that  be  fatherless 

And  infants  mild  and  meek ; 
Take   you  example   by   this   thing. 

And  yield  to  each  his  right. 
Lest  God  with  such  like  misery 

Your  wicked  minds  requite. 


These  pretty  babes,  with  hand  in  hand. 

Went  wandering  up  and  down  ; 
But  never  more  could  see  the  man 

Approaching  from  the  town : 
Their  pretty  lips  with  blackberries 

AVere  all  besmeared  and  dyed  ; 
And  when  they  saw  the  darksome  night 

They  sat  them  down  and  cried. 


THE  LOVING  BALLAD  OF 
LORD  BATEMAN. 

LoED  Bateman  he  was  a  noble  lord, 
A  noble  lord  of  high  degree  ; 

He  shipped  himself  on  board  a  ship, 
Some  foreign  country  he  would  go  see. 


300 


Poems   for  Children. 


He  sailed  east,  and  lie  sailed  went. 
Until  he  came  to  proud  Turkey  ; 

When  he  was  taken  and  put  to  prison, 
Until  his  life  was  almost  wearic. 

And  in  this  prison  there  grew  a  tree, 
It  grew  so  stout,  and  grew  so  strong  ; 

Where  he  was  chained  by  the  middle, 
Until  his  life  was  almost  gone. 

This  Turk  he  had  one  only  daughter, 
The  fairest  creature  my  eyes  did  see  ; 

8he  stole  the  keys  of  her  father's  prison. 
And  swore  Lord  Batenian  she  would 
set  free. 

"  Have  you  got  houses  ?  have  vou  got 
lands  ? 
Or  does  Northumberland   belong  to 
thee  ? 
What  would  you  give  to  the  fair  young 
lady, 
That  out  of  prison   would  set  you 
free  ?  " 

"  I  have  got  houses,  1  have  got  lands, 
And    half    Northumberland    belongs 
to  me  ; 

I'll  give  it  all  to  the  fair  young  lady 
That  out  of  prison  would  set  me  free." 

Oh  !    then  she  took  him  to  her  father's 
hall. 
And  gav§  to  him  the  best  of  wine  ; 
And  every  health  she  drunk  unto  him, 
"  I   wish   Lord   Bateman     that  you 
were  mine  !  " 

Now  in  seven  years  I'll  make  a  vow 
And  seven  years  I'll  keep  it  strong. 

If  you'll  wed  with  no  other  woman, 
I  will  wed  with  no  other  man." 

Oh  !    then  she  took  him  to  her  father's 
harbour. 
And  gave  to  him  a  ship  of  fame, 
"  Farewell,     farewell      to     you,     liOrd 
Bateman, 
I'm  afraid  I  ne'er  shall  see  you  again." 

Now  seven  long  years  are  gone  and  past. 
And    fourteen   days    well    known   to 
thee  ; 
She  packed  \np  all  her  gay  clothing, 
And  swore  Lord  Bateman  she  would 
go  see. 


But  when  she  came  to  Lord  Bateman'a 
castle. 
So  boldly  she  rang  the  bell ; 
"  Who's  there  ?    who's  there  ?  "  cried 
the  proud  porter  ; 
"  Who's  there  ?   unto  me  come  tell." 

"  Oh  is  this  Lord  Bateman's  castle  ? 
Or  is  his  loi'dship  here  within  ?  " 
*'  Oh,  yes  I    oh,  yes  !  "  cried  the  young 
porter, 
"  He's  just  now  taken  his  new  bride 
in." 

"  Oh,   tell  him  to  send  me  a  slice  of 
bread. 
And  a  bottle  of  the  best  wine  ; 
And    not    forgetting    the    fair    young 
lady 
Who   did   release    Mm    when    close 
confine." 

Away,   away    went  this  proud   young 
porter. 
Away,  away,  and  away  went  he. 
Until    he    came    to    Lord    Bateman's 
■  chamber— 
Down  on  his  bended  knees  fell  he. 

"  What  news,   what  news,   my  proud 
young  porter  ? 
What  news  hast  thou  brought  unto 
me  ?  " 
"  There    is    the    fairest    of    all    young 
creatures 
That  ever  my  two  eyes  did  see  ! 

"  She  has  got  rings  on  every  finger, 
And  round  one  of  them  she  has  got 
three. 
And    as     much    gay    clothing    round 
her  middle 
As  would  buy  all  Northumberlea. 

"  She    bids    you    send    her    a   slice    of 
bread, 
And  a  bottle  of  the  best  wine  ; 
And    not    forgetting    the    fair    young 
lady 
Who    did    release    you    when    close 
confine." 

Lord   Bateman   he   then  in  a  passion 
flew. 
And    broke    his   sword   in   splinters 
three ; 


Ballads. 


301 


Saying,    "  I   will   give   all    my   fatlior's 
riches 
If  Sophia  has  crossed  the  sea." 

Then     up    spoke    the    young     bride's 
mother, 
Who  never  was  heard   to  speak  so 
free  : 
*'  You'll  not  forget  my  only  daughter, 
If  Sophia  has  crossed  the  sea." 

"  I   own   I     made    a     bride     of    your 
daughter, 
She's   neither  the   better   nor   worse 
for  me  ; 
She  came   to  me  with   her  horse  and 
satldlc. 
She  may  go  back  in  her  coacli  and 
three." 

Lord   Bateman  prepared  anothei'  mar- 
riage. 
And    sang,    with    heart    so     full    of 
glee, 
"  I'll     range     no     more      in      foreign 
countries 
Now,  since  Sophia  has  crosscil   the 
sea." 


THE  RAREST  BALLAD  THAT 
EVER  WAS  SEEN,  OF  THE 
BLIND  BEGGAR'S  DAUGHTER 
OF    BETHNAL    GREEN. 

PART     I. 

It   was   a  blind  beggar   had    long  lost 

his  sight, 
He    had    a    fair    daughter    of    beauty 

most    bright  ; 
And     many    a    gallant     brave    suitor 

had  she. 
For    none    was    so    comely    as    pretty 

Bessie. 

And   though  she   was  of  favour   most 

fair. 
Yet  seeing  she  was  but  a  poor  beggars 

heir. 
Of  ancient  housekeepers  despised   was 

she, 
Whose  sons  came  as  suitors  to  pretty 

Bessie. 


Wherefore  in  great  sorrow  fair  Bessie 

did  say, 
"  (Jood    father    and    mother,    let    me 

go  away 
To    seek    out    my    fortune,    whatever 

it  be." 
This  suit  then  they  granted  to  pretty 

Bessie. 

Then    Bessie    that    was    of   beauty   so 

bright, 
All  clad  in  gray  russet,  and  late  in  tho 

night. 
From  father  and  mother  alone  parted 

siie. 
Who    sighed    and    sobbed    for    pretty 

Bessie. 

She  went  till  she  came   to  Stratford- 

le-Bow  ; 
Then  knew  she  not  whither,  nor  which 

way  to  go  : 
With    tears    she    lamented    her    hard 

destiny. 
So    sad    and    so    heavy    was    pretty 

Bessie. 

She  kept  on  her  journey  until  it  was 
day. 

And  went  unto  Romford  along  tlie 
high  way ; 

Where  at  the  Queen's  Arms  enter- 
tained was  she. 

So  fair  and  well  favoured  was  pretty- 
Bessie. 

She   had  not  been   there  a  montii   to 

an  end 
But  master  and  mistress  and  all  was 

her  friend  : 
And  every  brave  gallant  that  once  did 

her  see, 
Was  straightway  enamoured  of  pretty 

Bessie. 

(ireat  gifts  did  they  send  her  of  silver 

and  gold 
And    in    their    songs    daily    her    love 

was   extolled  ; 
Her  beauty  was  l)lazed  in  every  degree. 
So    fair    and    so    comely    was    pretty 

Bessie. 

Tlie   young    men    of    Romford    in    her 

had  their  joy  ; 
She    showed    herself    courteous,    and 

modestly  coy ; 


302 


Poems   for  Children. 


And  at  her  commandment  still  \^oiild 

they  be. 
So    fair    and    so    comely    was    pretty 

Bessie. 


First  get  their  good  will  and  be  faithful 

to  me. 
And  you  shall  then  marry  your  pretty 

Bessie." 


Four  suitors  at  once  unto  her  did  go  ; 
They  craved  her  favour,  but  still  she 

said    "  No  ; 
I    would    not    wish    gentles    to    marry 

with   me  ;  " 
Yet  ever  they  honoured  pretty  Bessie. 

The  first  of  them  was  a  gallant  young 

knight, 
And  he    came   unto  her  disguised  in 

the  night : 
The  second  a  gentleman  of  good  degi-ee, 
Who  wooed  and  sued  for  pretty  Bessie. 

A  merchant  of  London,  whose  wealth 

was  not  small, 
He  was   the  third   suitor,   and  proper 

withal  : 
Her  master's  own  son  the  fourth  man 

must  be, 
Who  swore   he   would   die   for   pretty 

Bessie. 

"  And  if  thou  wilt  marry  me,"  quoth 

the  knight, 
"  I'll  make  thee  a  lady  with  joy  and 

del'ght ; 
My    heart's     so     enthralled     by     thy 

beauty. 
That  soon  I  shall  die  for  pretty  Bessie." 

The    gentleman    said,    "  Come,    marry 

with  me, 
As  fine  as  a  lady  my  Bessie  shall  be  ; 
My  life  is  distressed  :    oh,  hear  me," 

quoth  he  ; 
"And  grant   me  thy  love,  my  pretty 

Bessie." 


To  every  one  this  answer  she  made  ; 
Wlierefore    imto    her    they    joyfully 

said  : 
"  This  thing  we  fulfil  we  all  do  agree  ; 
But    where    dwells    thy    father,     my 

pretty  Bessie  ?  " 

"  My   father,"   she   said,    "  is  soon   to 

be  seen  ; 
The    silly    blind    beggar    of     Bethnal 

Green, 
That     daily    sits     begging     there     for 

charitie. 
He  is  the  good  father  of  pretty  Bessie. 

"  His  marks  and  his  tokens  are  known 

full   well; 
He  always  is  led  with  a  dog  and  a 

bell : 
A  silly  old  man,  God  knoweth,  is  he 
Yet  he  is  the  father  of  pretty  Bessie." 

"  Nay,    then,"    quoth    the    merchant, 

"  thou  art  not  for  me  "  : 
"  Not  yet,"  said  the  innholder,  "  my 

wife  shalt  thou  be  :  " 
"  I  loathe,"  said  the  gentle,  "  a  beggar's 

degree. 
And     therefore     adieu,     my     pretty 

Bessie  !  " 

"  Why,  then,"  quoth  the  knight,  "  hap 

better  or  worse, 
I  weigh  not  true  love  by  the  w'eight 

of  the  purse. 
And  beauty  is  beauty  in  every  degree  ; 
Then    welcome    to    me,     my    pretty 

Bessie. 


"  Let  me  be  thy  husband,"  the  merchant 

did  say, 
"  Thou    shalt    live    in    London,    both 

gallant  and  gay ; 
My  ships  shall  bring  home  rich  jewels 

for  thee. 
And  I  will  for  ever  love  pretty  Bessie." 

Then  Bessie  she  sighed,  and  thus  she 

did  say : 
"  My   father   and   mother   I   mean   to 

obey; 


With  thee  to  thy  father  forthwith  1 

will  go." 
"  Nay,   soft,"   said   his   kiasmen,    "  it 

must  not  be  so ; 
A    poor    beggar's    daughter    no    lady 

shall   be. 
Then  take  thy  adieu  of  pretty  Bessie." 

But  soon  after  this   by   break   of  the 

day. 
The   knight  had   from   Romford   stole 

Bessie  away. 


Ballads. 


303 


The  young  men  of  Romford,  as  thick 

as  might  be, 
Rode    after    to    fetch    again    pretty 


As   8\nft   as    the    wind    to    ride    they 

were  seen, 
Until  they  came    near  until  Bethnal 

Green  ; 
And     as     the    knight    lighted      most 

courteously. 
They  all  fought  against  liira  for  pretty 

Bessie. 

But    rescue    came    speedily    over    the 

plain. 
Or  else  the  young  knight  for  his  love 

had  been  slain. 
This  fray  being  ended,  then  straightway 

d'ye  see, 
His   kinsmen    came   railing    at   pretty 

Bessie. 

Then  spake  the  blind  beggar,  "  Altliougli 

I  be  poor. 
Yet  rail  not  against  my  child  at  my 

door ; 
Though  she  be  not  decked  in  velvet 

and  pearl, 
Yet  I  will  drop  angels*  with  you  for 

my  girl. 

"  And    then    if    my   gold    may    better 

her  birth. 
And  equal  the  gold  you  lay  on   the 

earth. 
Then    neither    rail     nor    grudge    you 

to  see 
The   blind   beggar's   daughter   a   lady 

to  be. 

"  But  first  you  shall  promise,  and  have 

it  well  known. 
The  gold  that  you  drop  shall  all  be 

your  own." 
With  that  they   replied,   *'  Contented 

be  we." 
"  Then  here's,"  quoth  the  beggar,  "  for 

pretty  Bessie." 

With   that  an   angel   he   cast   on   the 

ground, 
And     dropped     in     angels     full    three 

thousand   pound  ; 

•  Angel— Au  old  Enjlisli  coin. 


And   oftentimes   it  was   proved    most 

plain. 
For  the   gentlemen's   one   the   beggar 

dropped  twain : 

So  that  the   place   wherein   they   did 

sit. 
With  gold  it  was  covered  every  wliit  ; 
The   gentlemen   then   having   dropped 

all  their  store, 
iSaid,  "Now,  beggar,  hold,  for  we  have 

no  more. 

"  Well  hast  thou  fulfilled  thy  promise 

aright." 
"  Then   marry,"   quoth  he,    "  my  girl 

to  this  knight ; 
And  here,"  added  he,  "  I  will  throw 

you  down 
A  hundred  pounds  more  to  buy  her  a 

gown." 

The  gentlemen  all,  that  this  treasure 

had  seen. 
Admired  the  beggar  of  Bethnal  Green  ; 
And   all   those   that   were   her  suitors 

before. 
Their  flesh  for  very  anger  they  tore. 

Thus  was  fair  Bessie  matched  to  the 

knight, 
.And    then    made    a    lady    in    othei's' 

despite : 
A  fairer  lady  there  never  was  seen. 
Than  the   blind  beggar's  daughter  of 

Bethnal  Green. 

]^>ut  of  their  sumptuous  marriage  and 

feast, 
\Vhat  brave  lords  and  knights  thither 

were  prest. 
The   second    part   shall    set    forth    to 

yoirr  sight, 
With  marvellous  pleasure   and   wished 

delight. 


Of  a  blind  beggar's  daughter  most  fair 

and  most  bright. 
That  lato  was   betrothed   to  a  yoiug 

knight, 
The    discourse  thereof  you  lately  did 

see. 
But  now  comes  the  wedding  of  pretty 

Bessie. 


304 


Poems  for  Children, 


Within  a  gorgeous  palace  most  brave, 

Adorned  with  all  the  cost  they  could 
have. 

This  wedding  was  kept  most  sump- 
tuously, 

And  all  for  the  credit  of  pretty  Bessie. 

All    kinds    of    dainties   and   delicates 

sweet 
Were  brought  to  the  banquet,  as  it  was 

most  meet ; 
Partridge    and    plover,     and    venison 

most  free. 
Against  the  brave  wedding  of  pretty 

Bessie. 

This    wedding    through    England    was 

spread  by  report. 
So   that  a  great  number  thereto  did 

resort 
Of  nobles  and  gentles  in  every  degree. 
And  all  for  the  fame  of  pretty  Bessie. 

To  church  then  went  this  gallant  young 

knight ; 
His  bride  followed  after,  a  lady  most 

bright, 
With  troops  of  fair  ladies,  the  like  ne'er 

was   seen. 
As  went  with  sweet  Bessie  of    Bethnal 

Greem 

This  marriage  being  solemnised  then, 
AVith  music  performed  by  the  skilfullest 

men. 
The  nobles  and  gentles  sat  down  at 

that  tide. 
Each     one     admiring     the     beautiful 

bride. 

Now  after  the  sumptuous  dimier  was 

done. 
To    talk    and    to    reason    a    number 

begun  ; 
They    talked    of    the    blind    beggar's 

daughter  most  bright, 
And  what  with  his  daughter  he  gave 

to  the  knight. 

Tlien  spake  the  nobles,  "  Much  marvel 

have  we 
This    jolly    blind    beggar    we    cannot 

here  see." 
"  My    Lords,"    said    the    bride,    "  my 

father's  so  base. 
He  is  loathe  with  his  presence  these 

states  to  disgrace." 


"  The  praise  of  a  woman  in  question 

to  bring. 
Before  her  own  face  were  a  flattering 

thing  ; 
But  we  think  thy  father's  baseness," 

said    they, 
"Might  by  thy  beauty  be  clean  put 

away." 

They    had    no    sooner    these    pleasant 

words  spoke. 
But  in  comes  the  beggar  clad  in  a  silk 

cloak  ; 
A  fair  velvet  cap,  and  a  feather  had  he  ; 
And    now    a     musician     forsooth     he 

would  be. 

He  had  a  dainty  lute  imder  his  arm. 
He  touched   the  strings,   which  made 

such  a  charm. 
Said,  "  Please  you  to  hear  any  music 

of  me, 
I'll  &ing  you  a  song  of  pretty  Bessie." 

With  that  his  lute  he  twanged  straiglit 

away. 
And  thereupon  began  most  sweetly  to 

play  ; 
And    after    that    lessons    were    plaj^ed 

two  or  three. 
He     strained     out     tliis      song      most 

delicately : 

"  A  poor  beggar's  daughter  did  dwell 

on  the  green. 
Who  for  her  fairness  might  well  be  a 

queen, 
A    blithe   bonny  lassie,    and   a  dainty 

was  she, 
And  many  one  called  her  pretty  Bessie. 

"  And   if  anyone   here    her    birth    do 

disdain. 
Her  father  is   ready   with   might  and 

with  main, 
To  prove  she  is  come  of  noble  degree  ; 
Therefore      never     flout      at      pretty 

Bessie." 

With  that  the  lords  and  the  company 

round 
With     hearty     laughter     were     ready 

to  s wound  ; 
At  last  said  the  lords,  "  Full  well  may 

we  see 
The  bride  and  the  beggar's  beholden 

to  thee." 


Ballads. 


305 


jTi    this    the    bride    all    blushing    did  Mont  fatal  that  battle  did  prove  unto 

rise,  tlicc. 

The  pearly  drops  standing  within  her  Tliough  thou  was  not  born  tlien,   my 

fair  eyes,  pretty  Bessie  ! 
"  Oh  pardon  my  father,  brave  nobles," 

saitli  she,  "  '  Along  with  the  nobles   that   fell  at 

"  That    through    blind    affection    thus  that  tide, 

doteth  on  me."  His  elder  son  Henry,  who  fought   by 

his  side, 

"If  this   be   thy   father,"   the   nobles  Was  felled  by  a  blow  he  received  in  the 

did-  say,  light, 

"  Well  may  he  be  proud  of  this  happy  A    blow   tliat   deprived    him    for   ever 

day  ;  of  sight. 
Yet  by  his  countenance   well   may  we 

see.  "  'Among  the  dead  bodies  all  lifeless 

His    birth   and   his   fortune   did   never  he   lay, 

agree  ;  Till  evening  drew  on  of  the  following 

day, 

"  And  therefore,  blind   man,   we  pray  When  by  a  young  lady  discovered  was 

thee  take  care  he, 

(And  look  that  the  truth  tliou  to  us  And  this  was  thy  mother,  my  pretty 

do  declare),  Bessie. 
Thy   birth    and    thy   parentage,    what 

it  may  be,  "  'A  baron's  fair  daughter  stepped  forth 

For    the    love    that    thou    bearest    to  in  the  niglit, 

pretty   Bessie."  To  search  for  her  father,  who  fell   in 

the  fight, 

*'  Then  give  me  leave,  nobles  and  gentles  And    seeing    young    Montfort,     where 

each  one,  gasping  he  lay, 

One   song   more   to  sing,    and   then   I  Was    moved    with    pity,    and    brought 

have  done  ;  him  away. 
And    if    that   it    may    not    win    good 

report,  *'  <  j^  secret  she  nursed  him,  and  'suaged 

Then  do  not  give  me  a  groat  for  my  ]^[^  pain 

sport:  Wliile  he  through  the  reahn  was  be- 
lieved to  be  slain  : 

'"Sir   Simon   de  Montfort  my  subject  At  length  his  fair  bride  she  consented 

shall  be,  to  be, 

Once    chief    of    all    tlie    great    barons  And   made  him  glad  father  of  pretty 

was  he  ;  Bessie. 
Yet    fortune    so    cruel  this    lord    did 

^'^^^^j  "  '  And   now  lest  our    foes    our    lives 

Now  lost  and  forgotten  are  he  and  his  should  betray, 

i^c6-                                          '  We     clothed     ourselves     in     beggar's 

array  ; 

"'When  the  barons  in  arms  did  King  Her  jewels  she  sold,  and  hither  came 

Henry  oppose. 
Sir    Simon    de    Montfort    their    leader 

did   chose  ; 
A   leader   of  courage,    undaunted   was 

he, 
And  oftimes  he  made  their  enemies  flee. 


we, 
All    our    comfort    and    care    was    our 
pretty   Bessie. 

" '  And  here  have  we  lived  In  fortune's 

despite, 
Though     poor,     yet     contented     with 

humble  delight ; 
Full  forty  winters  thus  have  I  been 
The  barons  were  routed,  and  Montfort      A     silly     blind     beggar     of     Bethual 
was  slain;  Green.* 

20 


" '  At  length  in  the  battle  on  Eversham 
plain. 


306 


Poems  for  Children. 


"  And  here,  noble  lords,  is  ended  the 

song, 
Of  one  that  once  to    your  own   rank 

did  belong  ; 
And  thus  have  you  learned  a  secret  from 

me. 
That  ne'er  had   been  known  but  for 

pretty  Bessie." 

Now  when  the  fair  company  every  one, 
Had  heard  the  strange  tale  in  the  song 

he  had  shown, 
They  all   were   amazed,   as  well  they 

might  be, 
Both  at  the  blind  beggar  and  pretty 

Bessie. 

With  that  the  fair  bride  they  all  did 

embrace 
Saying,   "  .Since  thou  art  come  of  an 

honourable  race  ; 
Thy  father  likewise  is  of  noble  degree. 
And    thou    art    well    worthy    a    lady 

to  be." 

Then    was    the    feast   ended    with   joy 

and  delight ; 
A  bridegroom  most  happy  was  then  the 

young  knight ; 
In  joy  and  felicity  long  lived  he. 
All    with    hia    fair    lady,    the    pretty 

Bessie. 


"  O  wha  is  this  has  done  this  deed. 

And  tauld  the  King  o'  me 
To  send  us  out  at  this  time  of  the  year, 

To  sail  upon  the  sea  ? 

"  Be  it  wind,    be   it  wet,    be   it  hail, 
be  it  sleet. 

Our  ship  must  sail  the  faem  ; 
The  King's  daughter  of  Noroway, 

'Tis  we  must  fetch  her  haem." 

They   hoysed   their  sails   on   Moneday 
morn, 

Wi'  a'  the  speed  they  may  : 
They  hae  landed  in  Noroway, 

Upon  a  Wednesday, 

They  hadna  been  a  week,  a  week. 

In  Noroway,  but  twae. 
When  tJie  lords  o'  Noroway 

Began  aloud  to  say : 

"  Ye  Scottishmen  spend  a'  our  King's 
goud. 

And  a'  our  Queen's  fee." 
"  Ye  lie,  ye  lie,  ye  liars  loud  j 

Fu'  loud  I  heard  ye  lie  ; 

"  For  I  brought  as  much  white  nionie, 

As  gane  my  men  and  me. 
And  I  brought  a  half-fou  of  gude  red 
goud. 

Out  o'er  the  sea  with  me. 


SIB  PATBICK  SPENS. 

The  King  sits  in  Dunfermline  Town, 
Drinking  the  blude-red  wine  ; 

"  ()  where  will  I  get  a  skeely  skipiDer,* 
To  sail  this  new  ship  of  mine  ? ' 

O  up  and  spak'  an  eldern  knight, 
Sat  at  the  King's  right  knee, 

"  .Sir  Patrick  Spens  is  the  best  sailor. 
That  ever  sailed  the  sea." 

"  To  Noroway,  to  Noroway, 
To  Noroway  o'er  the  faem. 

The  King's  daughter  of  Noroway, 
'Tis  thou  maun  bring  her  haem." 

The  first  word  that  Sir  Patrick  read 
Sae  loud,  loud  laughed  he  ; 

The  neist  word  that  Sir  Patrick  read. 
The  tear  blinded  his  ee. 

*  Skilful  mariner. 


"  Make  ready,  make  ready,  my  men, 
men  a'. 

Our  gude  ship  sails  the  morn." 
*'  Now,  ever  alake,  my  master  dear, 

I  fear  a  deadly  storm," 

"  I  saw  the  new  moon  late  yestreen, 
Wi'  the  old  moon  in  her  arm, 

And  if  tve  gang  to  sea,  master, 
I  fear  we'll  come  to  harm." 

They  hadna  sailed  a  league,  a  league, 

A  league  but  barely  tliree. 
When    the    lift    grew    dark,    and    tlie 
wind  blew  loud, 

And  gurly  grew  the  sea. 

The  ankers  brak,  and  the  topmasts  lap 
It  was  sic  a  deadly  storm  ; 

And   tlie   waves  cam  o'er  the   broken 
sliip 
Till  a'  her  sides  were  torn. 


Ballads. 


307 


"  0  where  will  I  get  a  gude  sailor, 
To  take  my  helm  in  hand, 

Till  I  get  up  to  the  tall  top-mast, 
To  see  if  I  can  spy  land  ?  " 

*'  O  here  am  I,  a  sailor  glide. 

To  take  tlie  helm  in  hand. 
Till  you  go  up  to  the  tall  top-mast : 

But  I  fear  you'll  ne'er  spy  land." 

lie  hadna  gane  a  step,  a  step, 

A  step  but  barely  ane, 
Wht-n  a  bout  flew  out  of  our  goodly  ship. 

And  the  salt  sea  it  cam  in. 

"  f!ae,  fetch  a  web  of  the  silken  claith, 

Another  o'  the  twine, 
And  wap  them  into  our  ship's  side. 

And  let  nae  the  sea  come  in  !  " 

Tbey  fetched  a  web  o'  the  silken  claith, 

Another  o'   the  twine, 
And  they  wrapped  them  round  the  glide 
ship's  side, 

Birt  still  the  sea  cam  in. 

0   laith,   laith,    were   our    gude   Scots 
lords. 

To  weet  their  cork-heeled  shoon  ! 
But  lang  or  a'  the  play  was  played, 

And  they  wat  their  hats  aboon. 

And  mony  was  the  feather  bed. 
That  fluttered  on  the  faem  ; 

And  mony  was  the  gude  lord's  son. 
That  never  mair  cam  haem. 

Tlie  ladies  wrang  their  fingers  white, 
Tbe  maidens  tore  their  hair, 

A'   for  the  sake   of  their   true   loves ; 
For  them  they'll  see  nae  mair. 

0  lang,  lang,  may  the  ladies  sit, 
Wi'  their  fans  into  their  hand. 

Before  they  see  Sir  Patrick  Spens 
Come  sailing  to  the  strand  : 

0  lang,  lang,  may  the  maidens  sit. 
With  their  goud  kaims  in  their  liair, 

A'  waiting  for  their  ain  dear  loves, 
For  them  they'll  see  nae  mair  ! 

0  forty  miles  off  Aberdeen, 

'Tis  fifty  fathoms  deep. 
And  there  lies  gude  Sir  Patrick  Spens 

Wi'  the  Scots  lords  at  his  feet. 


THE   BIME   OF  THE   ANCIENT 
MARINEH,. 

It  is  an  ancient  Mariner, 

And  he  stoppeth  one  of  three. 

"  By  thy  long  greybeard  and  glittering 

eye. 
Now  wherefore  stopp'st  thou  me  ? 

"  The  Bridegroom's  doors  are  opened 

wide. 
And  I  am  next  of  kin  ; 
The  guests  are  met,  the  feast  is  set : 
^lay'st  hear  the  merry  din." 

He  holds  him  with  his  skinny  hand, 

"  There  was  a  ship,"  quoth  he. 

"  Hold    oft"  !  unhand    me,    grey- beard 

loon  !  " 
Eftsoons  his  hand  dropt  he. 

He  holds  him  with  his  glittering  eye — 
Tlie  Wedding-Guest  stood  still, 
And  hstens  like  a  three  years  child  : 
The  Mariner  hath  his  will. 

The  Wedding-Guest  sat  on  a  stone  ; 
He  cannot  choose  but  hear  ; 
And  thus  spake  on  that  ancient  man. 
The  bright-eyed  Mariner. 

The    ship    was    cheered,    the    harbour 

cleared, 
Merrily  did  we  drop 
Below  the  kirk,  below  the  hill, 
Below  the  lighthouse  top. 

The  Sun  came  up  upon  the  left. 
Out  of  the  sea  came  he  ! 
And  he  shone  bright,  and  on  the  rigiit 
Went  down  into  the  sea. 

Higher  and  higher  every  day, 
Till  over  the  mast  at  noon — 
The     Wedding-Guest    here     beat     his 

breast. 
For  he  heard  the  loud  bassoon. 

The  bride  hath  paced  into  the  hall. 
Red  as  a  rose  is  she  ; 
Nodding  their  heads  before  her  goes 
The  merry  minstrelsy. 

The  Wedding-Guest  he  beat  his  breast. 
Yet  he  cannot  choose  but  hear  ; 
And  thus  spake  on  that  ancient  man. 
The  bright-eyed  Mariner. 


srs 


Poems  for  Children. 


And  now  the  Storm-blast  came,  and  he 
Was  tyrannous  and  strong  : 
He  striick  with  his  o'ertaking  wings, 
And  chased  us  south  along. 

With  sloping  masts  and  dipping  prow, 
As  who  pursued  Avith  5^ell  and  blow 
Still  treads  the  shadow  of  his  foe 
And  forward  bends  his  head. 
The  ship  drove  fast,  loud  roared  the 

blast, 
And  southward  aye  we  fled. 

And   now  there  came   both  mist    and 

snow. 
And  it  grew  wondrous  cold  : 
And  ice,  mast-high,  came  floating  by, 
As  green  as  emerald. 

And  through  the  drifts  the  snowy   clift 
Did  send  a  dismal  sheen  : 
Nor  shapes  of  men  nor  beasts  we  ken— 
The  ice  was  all  between. 

The  ice  was  here,  the  ice  was  there, 

The  ice  was  all  around  : 

It  cracked  and  growled,  and  roared  and 

howled. 
Like  noises  in  a  swound  ! 

At  length  did  cross  an  Albatross : 
Through  the  fog  it  came  ; 
As  if  it  had  been  a  Christian  soul. 
We  hailed  it  in  God's  name. 

It  ate  the  food  it  ne'er  had  eat, 
And  round  and  round  it  flew. 
The  ice  did  split  with  a  thunder-fit ; 
The  helmsman  steered  us  through  ! 

And    a    good    south    wind    sprung    up 

behind  ; 
The  Albatross  did  follow. 
And  every  day,  for  food  or  play. 
Came  to  the  mariners'  hollo  ! 

In  mist  or  cloud,  on  mast  or  shroud. 

It  perched  for  vespers  nine  : 

Whiles  all  the  night,  through  fog-smoke 

white. 
Glimmered  the  white  Moon-shine. 

"  God  save  thee,  ancient  Mariner  ! 
From    the    fiends,    that    plague    thee 

thus  !— 
Why    look'st    thou    so  ?  " — With    my 

cross-bow 
I  shot  the  Albatross. 


Paet  the  Second, 

The  Sun  now  rose  upon  the  right : 
Out  of  the  sea  came  he, 
Still  hid  in  mist,  and  on  the  left 
Went  down  into  the  sea. 

And   the   good   south  wind   still    blew 

behind, 
But  no  SM-eet  bird  did  follow, 
Nor  any  day,  for  food  or  play, 
Came  to  the  mariners'  hollo  ! 

And  I  had  done  an  hellish  thing, 

And  it  would  work  'em  woe  : 

For  all  averred,  I  had  killed  the  bird 

That  made  the  breeze  to  blow. 

Ah,  wretch  !  said  they,  the  bird  to  slay 

That  made  the  breeze  to  blow  ! 

Nor  dim  nor  red,  like  God's  own  head. 
The  glorious  sun  uprist : 
Then  all  averred,  I  had  killed  the  bird 
That  brought  the  fog  and  mist. 
'Twas  right,  said  they,  such  birds  to  slay, 
That  bring  the  fog  and  mist. 

The  fair  breeze  blew,  the  white  foam 

flew. 
The  furrow  followed  free  : 
We  were  the  first  that  ever  burst 
Into  that  silent  sea. 

Down  dropt  the  breeze,  the  sails  dropl 

down, 
'Twas  sad  as  sad  could  be  ; 
And  we  did  speak  only  to  break 
The  silence  of  the  sea  ! 


All  in  a  hot  and  copper  sky, 
The  bloody  Sun,  at  noon. 
Right  up  above  the  mast  did 
No  bigger  than  the  Moon. 


itand, 


Day  after  day,  day  after  day. 
We  stuck,  nor  breath  nor  motion. 
As  idle  as  a  painted  ship 
Upon  a  painted  ocean. 

Water,  water,  every  where. 
And  all  the  boards  did  shrink ; 
Water,    water,    every    where. 
Nor  any  drop  to  drink. 

The  very  deep  did  rot :  0  Christ ! 
Tiiat  ever  this  .should  be  ! 
Yea,  slimy  things  chd  crawl  witii  legs 
Upon  the  slimy  sea. 


Ballads. 


309 


About,  ahont,  in  reel  and  rout 
The  dcatli-lires  danced  at  night ; 
The  water,  like  a  witcli's  oils. 
Burnt  green,  and  blue,  and  white. 

And  some  in  dreams  assun'd  were 
Of  the  spirit  that  plagued  us  so  ; 
Kine  fathom  deep  ho  had  followed  us 
From  the  land  of  mist  and  snow. 

And     every     tongue,     through     utter 

drought, 
Was  withered  at  the  root ; 
We  could  not  speak,  no  more  than  if 
We  had  been  choked  with  soot. 

Ah  !  well  a-day,  what  evil  looks 
Had  I    froui  old  and  young  ! 
Instead  of  the  cross,  the  Albatross 
About  my  neck  was  hung. 

Part  the  Third. 

There    passed    a    weary    time.     Each 

throat 
Was  parched,  and  glazed  each  eye. 
A  weary  time  !  a  weary  time  ! 
How  glazed  each  weary  eye, 
When  looking  westward  I  beheld, 
A  something  in  the  sky. 

At  first  it  seemed  a  little  speck, 
And  then  it  seemed  a  mist : 
It  moved  and  moved,  and  took  at  last 
A  certain  shape,  I  wist. 

A  speck,  a  mist,  a  shape,  I  wist ! 
And  still  it  neared  and  neared  : 
As  if  it  dodged  a  water-sprite. 
It  plunged  and  tacked  and  veered. 

With  throats  unslaked,  with  black  lips 

baked. 
We  could  not  laugh  nor  wail ; 
Through  utter  drought  all  dumb   we 

stood  ! 
I  bit  my  arm,  I  sucked  the  blood. 
And  cried,  A  sail !  a  sail ! 

With  throats  unslaked,  with  black  lips 

baked. 
Agape  they  heard  me  call : 
(Jrauiercy  !  they  for  joy  did  grin. 
Ami  all  at  once  their  breath  drew  in. 
As  they  were  drinking  all. 

See  !  see  !  (I  cried)  she  tacks  no  more  I 
Hither  to  work  us  weal; 


Without  a  breeze,  without  a  tide, 
She  steadies  with  upright  keel  ! 

The  western  wave  was  all  a- flame. 
The  day  was  well-nigh  done  ! 
Almost  upon  the  western  wave 
Rested  the  broad  bright  Sun  ; 
When  that  strange  shape  drove  sud- 
denly 
Betwixt  us  and  the  Siui. 

And  straight  the  Sun  was  decked  with 

bars 
(Heaven's  mother  send  us  grace  !) 
As    if    through    a    dungeon-grate    he 

peered. 
With  broad  and  burning  face. 

Alas  !  (thought  I,  and  my  heart  beat 

loud,) 
How  fast  she  nears  and  nears  ! 
Are  those  her  sails  that  glance  in  the  Sun, 
Like  restless  gossameres  ? 

Are  those  her  ribs  through  which  the  Sun 
Did  peer,  as  through  a  grate  ? 
And  is  that  Woman  all  her  crew  ? 
Is  that  a  Death  ?  and  are  there  two  ? 
Is  Death  that  Woman's  mate  ? 

Her  Ups  were  red,  her  looks  were  free. 
Her  locks  were  yellow  as  gold  ; 
Her  skin  was  as  white  as  leprosy. 
The  Night-Mare  Life-in-Death  was  she 
Who  thicks  man's  blood  with  cold. 

The  naked  hulk  alongside  came. 
And  the  twain  were  casting  dice  ; 
"  The  game  is  done  ;   I've,  I've  won  !  " 
Quoth  she,  and  whistles  thrice 

The  Sun's  rim  dips  ;  the  stars  rush  out : 
At  one  stride  comes  the  dark  ; 
With  far-heard  whisper,  o'er  the  sea. 
Off  shot  the  spectre- bark. 

We  Ustened  and  looked  sideways  up  ! 

Fear  at  my  heart,  as  at  a  cup, 

My  Mfe- blood  seemed  to  sip  ! 

The  stars  were  dim,  and  thick  the  night. 

The    steersman's    face    by    his    lamp 

gleamed  white  ; 
From  the  sails  the  dew  did  drip — 
Till  clombe  above  the  eastern  bar 
The  horned  Moon,  with  one  bright  star 
Within  the  nether  tip. 


310 


Poems  for  Children. 


One  after  one,  by  the  star-clogged  .Moon, 

Too  quick  for  groan  or  sigh, 

Each  turned  his  face  with  a  ghastly 

pang, 
And  cursed  me  with  his  eye. 

Four  times  fifty  living  men 
(And  I  heard  nor  sigh  nor  groan). 
With  heavy  thump,  a  hfeless  lump, 
They  dropped  do^Ti  one  by  one. 

The  souls  did  from  their  bodies  fly, — 
They  fled  to  bliss  or  woe  ! 
And  every  soul,  it  passed  me  by. 
Like  the  whizz  of  my  cross-bow  I . 

Part  the  Fourth. 

"  I  fear  thee,  ancient  Mariner  ! 

I  fear  thy  skinny  hand  ! 

And  thou  art  long,  and  lank,  and  brow  n, 

As  is  the  ribbed  sea-sand. 

"  I  fear  thee,  and  thy  glittering  eye. 
And  thy  skinny  hand,  so  brown." — 
Fear   not,    fear   not,    thou    Wedding- 
Guest  ! 
This  body  dropt  not  down. 

Alone,  alone,  all,  all  alone. 
Alone  on  a  wide,  wide  sea  ! 
And  never  a  saint  took  pity  on 
My  soul  in  agony 

The  many  men,  so  beautiful ; 
And  they  all  dead  did  lie  ; 
And  a  thousand  thousand  slimy  things 
Lived  on  ;  and  so  did  I. 

I  looked  upon  the  rotting  sea, 
And  drew  my  eyes  away  ; 
I  looked  upon  the  rotting  deck. 
And  there  the  dead  men  lay. 

I  looked  to  Heaven,  and  tried  to  praj'. 
But  or  ever  a  prayer  had  gusht, 
A  wicked  whisper  came,  and  made 
My  heart  as  dry  as  dust. 

I  closed  my  lids,  and  kept  them  closj. 

And  the  balls  like  jjulses  beat  ; 

For  the  sky  and  the  sea,  and  the  sea 

and  the  sky. 
Lay  like  a  load  on  my  weary  eye. 
And  the  dead  were  at  my  feet. 

The  cold  sweat  melted  from  their  limbs, 
iS'or  rot  nor  reek  did  they : 


The  look  with  which  tho}^  looked  on  mc 
Had  never  passed  away. 

An  orphan's  curse  would  drag  to  Hell 
A  spirit  from  on  high  ; 
But  oh  !  more  horrible  than  tliat 
Is  a  curse  in  a  dead  man's  eye  ! 
Seven  days,  seven  nights,  I  saw  that 

ou'se. 
And  yet  I  could  not  die. 

The  moving  Moon  went  up  the  sky. 
And  no  where  did  abide  : 
Softly  she  was  going  up. 
And  a  star  or  two  beside — 

Her  beams  bemocked  the  sultry  main. 

Like  April  hoar-frost  spread  ; 

But  where  the  ship's  huge  shadow  lay. 

The  charmed  water  burnt  alway 

A  still  and  awful  red. 

Beyond  the  shadow  of  the  ship, 

I  ■watched  the  water-snakes  : 

They  moved  in  tracks  of  shining  white. 

And  when  they  reared,  the  elfish  light 

Fell  off  in  hoary  flakes. 

Within  the  shadow  of  the  ship 

I  watched  their  rich  attire  ; 

Blue,  glossy  green,  and  velvet  black, 

Thej' coiled  and  swam  ;  and  every  tracli 

AVas  a  flash  of  golden  lire. 

0  happy  living  things  !  no  tongu 
Their  beauty  might  declare  : 

A  spring  of  love  gushed  from  my  heart, 
And  I  blessed  them  unaware  ! 
Sure  my  kind  saint  took  pity  on  me. 
And  I  blessed  them  unaware. 

The  self-same  moment  I  could  pray  ; 
And  from  my  neck  so  free 
The  Albatross  fell  off,  and  sank 
Like  lead  into  the  sea. 

Part  the  Fifth. 
Oh,  sleep  !  it  is  a  gentle  thing. 
Beloved  from  pole  to  pole  ! 
To  Mary  Queen  the  praise  be  given  ! 
Slie  sent  the  gentle  sleep  from  Heaven, 
That  shd  into  my  soul. 

The  silly  buckets  on  the  deck. 
That  had  so  long  remained, 

1  lireamt  that  they  were  filled  with  dew  ; 
Anil  when  I  awoke,  it  rained. 


I 


Ballads. 


311 


My  lips  were  wet,  my  throat  was  cold, 
My  garments  all  were  dank  ; 
Sure  I  had  drunken  in  my  dreams. 
And  still  my  body  drank. 

I  moved,  and  could  not  feel  my  limbs  : 
I  was  so  light — almost 
I  thought  that  I  had  died  in  sleep. 
And  was  a  blessed  ghost. 

And  soon  I  heard  a  roaring  wind  : 
It  did  not  come  anear  ; 
But  with  its  sound  it  shook  the  sails. 
That  were  so  t'lin  and  sere. 

The  upper  air  burst  into  Hfe  ! 
And  a  himdred  fire-flags  sheen. 
To  and  fro  they  were  hurried  about  I 
And  to  and  fro,  and  in  and  out. 
The  wan  stars  danced  between. 

And  the  coming  wind  did  roar  more 

loud. 
And  the  sails  did  sigh  like  sedge  ; 
And  the  rain  poured  down  from  one 

black  cloud  ; 
The  Moon  was  at  its  edge. 

The  thick  black  cloud  was  cleft,  and 

still 
The  Moon  was  at  its  side  : 
Like  waters  shot  from  some  high  crag. 
The  hghtning  fell  with  never  a  jag 
A  river  steep  and  wide. 

The  loud  wind  never  reached  the  ship. 
Yet  now  the  ship  moved  on  ! 
Beneath  the  hghtning  and  the  Moon 
The  dead  men  gave  a  groan. 

They  groaned,   they  stirred,   they  all 

uprose, 
Nor  spake,  nor  moved  their  eyes  ; 
It  had  been  strange,  even  in  a  dream, 
To  have  seen  those  dead  men  rise. 

The  helmsman  steered,  the  ship  moved 

on  ; 
Yet  never  a  breeze  up  blew  ; 
The  mariners  all  'gan  work  the  ropes. 
Where  they  were  wont  to  do  ; 
They    raised    their    limbs    hke    lifeless 

tools — 
We  were  a  ghastly  crew. 

The  body  of  my  brother's  son 
Stood  by  me,  knee  to  knee  1 


The  body  and  I  pulled  at  one  rope. 
But  he  said  nought  to  me. 

"  I  fear  thee,  ancient  Mariner  !  " 
Be  calm,  thou  Wedding-Guest ! 
'Twas  not  those  souls  that  fled  in  pain. 
Which  to  their  corses  came  again. 
But  a  troop  of  spirits  blest : 

For   when   it   dawned — they   dropped 

their  arms. 
And  clustered  roimd  the  mast ; 
Sweet  sounds  rose  slowly  through  their 

mouths. 
And  from  their  bodies  passed. 

Around,  around,  flew  each  sweet  sound. 
Then  darted  to  the  Sim  ; 
Slowly  the  sounds  came  back  again, 
Now  mixed,  now  one  by  one. 

Sometimes  a-dropping  from  the  sky 
I  heard  the  sky-lark  sing ; 
Sometimes  all  little  birds  that  are. 
How  they  seem  to  fill  the  sea  and  air 
With  their  sweet  jargoning  ! 

And  now  'twas  like  all  instruments. 
Now  hke  a  lonely  flute  ; 
And  now  it  is  an  angel's  song. 
That  makes  the  Heavens  be  mute. 

It  ceased  ;    yet  still  the  sails  made  on 

A  pleasant  noise  till  noon, 

A  noise  hke  of  a  hidden  brook 

In  the  leafy  month  of  June, 

That  to  the  sleeping  woods  all  night 

Singeth  a  quiet  tune. 

Till  noon  we  quietly  sailed  on. 
Yet  never  a  breeze  did  breathe  : 
Slowly  and  smoothly  went  the  ship. 
Moved  onward  from  beneath. 

Under  the  keel  nine  fathom  dee]), 
From  the  land  of  mist  and  snow, 
.  The  spirit  shd  :  and  it  was  he 
That  made  the  ship  to  go. 
The  sails  at  noon  left  off  their  tune. 
And  the  ship  stood  still  also. 

The  Sun,  right  up  above  the  mast. 
Had  fixed  her  to  the  ocean  : 
But  in  a  minute  she  'gan  stir. 
With  a  short  uneasy  motion — 
Backwards  and  forwards  half  her  length 
With  a  short  uneasy  motion. 


312 


Poems  for  Children. 


Then  like  a  pawing  horse  let  go, 
She  made  a  sudden  bound  ; 
It  flung  the  blood  into  my  head. 
And  I  fell  down  in  a  swound. 

How  long  in  that  same  fit  I  lay, 
I  have  not  to  declare  ; 
But  ere  my  living  hfe  returned, 
I  heard  and  in  my  soul  discerned 
Two  voices  in  the  air. 

"  Is  it  he  ?  "  quoth  one,  "  Is  this  the 

man  ? 
By  him  who  died  on  cross, 
With  his  cruel  bow  he  laid  full  low. 
The  harmless  Albatross. 

The  spirit  who  bideth  by  himself 
In  the  land  of  mist  and  snow. 
He  loved  the  bird  that  loved  tlie  man 
Who  shot  him  with  his  bow." 

The  other  was  a  softer  voice, 

As  soft  as  honey-dew  : 

Quoth   he,    "  The   man   hath   penance 

done. 
And  penance  more  will  do." 

Part  the  Sixth. 

first  voice. 

But  tell  me,  tell  me  !  speak  again, 
Thy  soft  response  renewing — 
What  makes  that  ship  drive  on  so  fast  ? 
What  is  the  Ocean  doing  ? 

SECOND   VOICE. 

Still  as  a  slave  before  his  lord. 
The  Ocean  hath  no  blast ; 
His  great  bright  eye  most  silently 
Up  to  the  Moon  is  cast — 

If  he  may  know  which  way  to  go  ; 
For  she  guides  him  smooth  or  grim. 
See,  brother,  see  !  how  graciously 
She  looketh  down  on  him. 

FIRST  VOICE. 

But  why  drives  on  that  ship  so  fast, 
Without  or  Mave  or  wind  ? 

SECOND    VOICE. 

The  air  is  cut  away  before, 
And  closes  from  behind. 


Fly,  brother,  fly  !  more  high,  more  high  ! 
Or  we  shall  be  belated  : 
For  slow  and  slow  that  ship  will  go. 
When  the  Mariner's  trance  is  abated. 

I  woke,  and  we  were  sailing  on 

As  in  a  gentle  weather  : 

'Twas  night,  calm  night,  the  Moon  was 

high  ; 
The  dead  men  stood  together. 

All  stood  together  on  the  deck. 
For  a  charnel-dungeon  fitter  : 
All  fixed  on  me  their  stony  ej'es. 
That  in  the  Moon  did  glitter. 

The  pang,  the  curse,  with  •which  they 

died. 
Had  never  passed  away  : 
I  could  not  draw  my  eyes  from  theirs. 
Nor  turn  them  up  to  pray. 

And  now  this  spell  was  snapt :   once 

more 
I  viewed  the  ocean  green. 
And  looked  far  forth,  j-et  little  saw 
Of  what  had  else  been  seen — 

Like  one,  that  on  a  lonesome  road 
Doth  walk  in  fear  and  dread, 
And  having  once  turned  round  walks  on 
And  turns  no  more  his  head  ; 
Because  he  knows,  a  frightful  fiend 
Doth  close  behind  him  tread. 

But  soon  there  breathed  a  wind  on  me. 
Nor  sound  nor  motion  made  : 
Its  path  was  not  upon  the  sea. 
In  ripple  or  in  shade. 

It  raised  my  hair,  it  fanned  my  cheek 
Like  a  meadow-gale  of  spring — 
It  mingled  strangely  with  my  fears. 
Yet  it  felt  like  a  welcoming. 

Swiftly,  swiftly  flew  the  ship. 
Yet  she  sailed  softly  too  : 
Sweetly,  sweetly  blew  the   breo/.c — 
On  me  alone  it  blew. 

Oh  !  dream  of  joy  !  is  this  indeed 
Tlie  light-house  top  I  see  '! 
Is  this  the  hill  ?  is  this  tin-  kirk  ? 
Is  this  my  own  countree  '1 

We  drifted  o'er  the  harbour- bar, 
And  I  with  sobs  did  pray — 


Ballads. 


313 


0  let  nie  be  awake,  my  God  I 
Or  let  me  sleep  ahvay. 

The  harbour- bar  was  clear  as  glass. 
So  smoothly  it  was  strewn  ! 
And  on  the  bay  the  iiiooniiiiht  lay, 
And  the  shadow  of  the  moon. 

1'hc  rock  shone  bright,  the  kirk  no  less. 
That  stands  above  the  rock  : 
The  moonlight  steeped  in  silentness 
The  steady  weathercock. 

And    the  bay  was    white    with    silent 

light, 
Till  rising  from  the  same. 
Full  many  shapes,  that  shadows  were, 
Li  crimson  colours  came. 

A  little  distance  from  the  prow 
Those  crimson  shadows  were  : 

1  turned  my  eyes  upon  the  deck— 
Oh,  Christ !  what  saw  I  there  ! 

Each  corse  lay  flat,  lifeless  and  flat, 
Aufl,  by  the  holy  rood  ! 
A  man  all  light,  a  seraph-man, 
On  every  corse  there  stood. 

This  seraph-band,  each  waved  his  hand, 
It  was  a  heavenly  sight ! 
They  stood  as  signals  to  the  land. 
Each  one  a  lovely  light : 

This  seraph-band,  each  waved  his  hand 
Xo  voice  did  they  impart — 
No  voice  ;    but  oh  !  the  silence  sank 
Like  music  on  my  heart. 

But  soon  I  heard  the  dash  of  oars 
I   heard  the  Pilot's  cheer  ; 
My  head  was  tuined  perforce  away, 
And  I  saM  a  boat  appear. 

The  Pilot,  ani4  the  Pilot's  boy, 
I  heard  them  coming  fast ; 
Dear  Lord  in  Heaven  !  it  was  a  joy 
The  dead  men  could  not  blast. 

I  saw  a  third — I  heard  his  voice  : 

It  is  the  Hermit  good  ! 

He  singeth  loud  his  godly    hymns 

That  he  makes  in  the  wood. 

He'll  shrive  my  soul,  he'll  wash  away 

The  Albatross's  blood. 


Part  the  Seventh. 

This  Hermit  good  lives  in  that  wood 

Which  slopes  do\vn  to  the  sea. 

How  loudly  his  sweet  voice  he  rears  ! 

He  loves  to  talk  with   marineres 

Tiiat  come  from  a  far  countree. 

He  kneels  at  morn,  and  noon,  and  eve — • 

Ho  hath  a  cushion  plump  ; 

It  is  the  moss  that  wholly  hides 

That  rotted  old  oak  stump. 

The  skiff-boat  neared :  I  heard  them 

talk, 
"  Why  this  is  strange,  I  trow  ! 
Where  are  these  lights  so  many  and  fair. 
That  signal  made  but  now  ?  " 

"  Strange,  by  my  faith  !  "  the  Hermit 

said — 
"  And  they  answered  not  our  cheer  ! 
The  planks   looked  warped !   and  see 

those  sails 
How  thin  they  are  and  sere  ! 
I  never  saw  aught  like  to  them. 
Unless  perchance  it  were 

BroMTi  skeletons  of  leaves  that  lag 
My  forest- brook  along  ; 
When  the  ivy-tod  is  heavy  with  snow. 
And  the  owlet  whoops  to  the  wolf  below, 
That  eats  the  she- wolf's  young  " 

"  Dear  Lord  !  it  hath  a  fiendish  look — 
(  The  Pilot  made  reply) 
I  am  a-feared  " — "  Push  on,  push  on  !  " 
Said  the  hermit  cheerily. 

The  boat  came  closer  to  the  ship, 
But  I  nor  spake  nor  stirred  ; 
The  boat  came  close  beneath  the  ship. 
And  straight  a  sound  was  heard. 

Under  the  water  it  rumbled  on. 
Still  louder  and  more  dread  ; 
It  reached  the  ship,  it    spUt  the  bay  ; 
The  ship  went  down  hke  lead. 

Stunned    by    that   loud    and    dreadful 

sound. 
Which  sky  and  ocean  smote, 
Like  one  that  hath   been  seven  days 

chowned 
My  body  lay  afloat ; 
But  swift  as  dreams  myself  I  found 
Within  the  Pilot's  boat. 


314 


Poems  for  Children. 


Upon  the  whirl,  where  sank  the  ship. 
The  boat  spun  round  and  round  ; 
And  all  was  still,  save  that  the  hill 
Was  telling  of  the  sound. 

I  moved  my  Hps — the  Pilot  shrieked 
And  fell  down  in  a  fit ; 
The  holy  Hermit  raised  his  eyes. 
And  prayed  where  he  did  sit. 

I  took  the  oars  ;  the  Pilot's  boy. 

Who  now  doth  crazy  go. 

Laughed  loud  and  long,and  all  the  while 

His  eyes  went  to  and  fro. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  "  quoth  he,  "  full  plain  I  see. 

The  Devil  knows  how  to  row." 

And  now,  all  in  my  own  countree 
I  stood  on  the  firm  land  ! 
The  Hermit  stepped  forth  from  the  boat 
And  scarcely  he  could  stand. 

"  O  shrieve  me,  shrieve  me,  holy  man  !  " 

The  Hermit  crossed  his  brow, 

"  Say  quick,"  quoth    he,  "  I  bid  thee 

say— 
What  manner  of  man  art  thou  ?  " 

Forthwith    this    frame    of    mine    was 

wrenched 
With  a  woeful  agony, 
Which  forced  me  to  begin  my  tale  ; 
And  then  it  left  me  free. 

Since  then,  at  an  uncertain  hour. 
That  agony  returns  ; 
And  till  my  ghastly  tale  is  told 
This  heart  within  me  burns. 

I  pass,  Uke  night,  from  land  to  land  ; 
I  have  strange  power  of  speech  ; 
The  moment  that  his  face  I  see, 
I  know  the  man  that  must  hear  me  : 
To  him  my  tale  I  teach. 

What  loud   uproar   bmsts   fiom   that 

door  ! 
The  wedding  guests  are  there : 
But  in  the  garden  bower  the  bride 
And  bride-maids  singing  are  ; 
And  hark  the  httle  vesper  bell. 
Which  biddeth  me  to  prayer  ! 

0  Wedding-Guest !  this  soul  hath  been 
Alone  on  a  wide,  wide  sea  ; 
So  lonely  'twas  that  God  himself 
Scarce  seemed  there  to  be. 


0  sweeter  than  the  marriage-feast. 
'Tis  sweeter  far  to  me. 
To  walk  together  to  the  kirk. 
With  a  goodly  company  ! — 

To  walk  together  to  the  kirk, 

And  all  together  pray, 

While  each  to  his  great  Father  bends, 

Old  men  and  babes  and  loving  friends, 

And  youths  and  maidens  gay  ! 

Farewell,  farewell !  but  this  I  tell 
To  thee,  thou  Wedding-Guest  ! 
He  prayeth  well,  who  loveth  well 
Both  man  and  bird  and  beast. 

He  prayeth  best,  who  loveth  best 
All  things  both  great  and  small : 
For  the  dear  God  who  loveth  us. 
He  made  and  loveth  all. 

The  Mariner  whose  eye  is  bright. 
Whose  beard  with  age  is  hoar, 
Is  gone  and  now  the  Wedding-Guest 
Turned  from  the  bridegroom's  door. 

He    went    hke    one    that    hath    been 

stunned, 
And  is  of  sense  forlorn  ; 
A  sadder  and  a  wiser  man. 
He  rose  the  morrow  mom. 

S.  T.  Coleridge. 


liOBD  liOVEL. 

Lord  Lovel  he  stood  at  his  castle  gate. 
Combing  his  milk-white  steed  ; 

When  up  came  Lady  Nancy  Belle 
To  wi^ih  her  lover  good  speed,  speed. 
To  wish  her  lover  good  speed. 

"  Where  are  you  going.  Lord  Lovel  ?  " 
she  said, 
"  Oh  !  where  are  you  going  ?  "  said 
she  ; 
"  I'm  going,   my  Lady  Nancy  Belle, 
Strange  countries  for  to  sec,  to  see. 
Strange  countries  for  to  see  !  " 

•'  When  will  you  be  back.  Lord  Lovel '!  " 
said  she  ; 
"  Oh  !  when  will  you  come  back  i  " 
Baid  she ; 


Ballads 


315 


"In  a  5'car  or  t-vro— or  three  at  the 
most, 
I'll  return  t'>  my  fair  Nancy— cy, 
I'll  return  to  my  fair  Nancy." 

But  he  had  not  been  gone  a  year  and 
a  da}''. 
Strange  countries  for  to  see, 
AN'heii  languishing  thoughts  came  into 
his  head. 
Lady  Nancy  Belle  he  would  go  see, 

see. 
Lady  Nancy  Belle  he  would  go  see. 

So  he  rode,  and  he  rode  on  his  milk- 
white  steed. 
Till  he  came  to  London-town  ; 
And  there  he  heard  St.  Pancras'  bells. 
And  the  people  all  mourning  round, 

round. 
And  the  people  all  mourning  round. 

"  Oh  !    what    is    the   matter  ?  "    Lord 
Lovel  h     said, 
"  Oh  !   what  is  the  matter  ?  "  said 
he; 
"  A   lord's   lady   is    dead,"    a   woman 
replied, 
"  And  some  call  her  Lady  Nancy  —cy 
And  some  call  her  Lady  Nancy."' 

So  he  ordered  the  grave  to  be  opened 
wide. 
And  the  shroud  he  turned  down, 
And  there  he  kissed  her  rlay-cold  lips. 
Till  the  tears  came  trickling  down, 

down. 
Till  the  tears  came  trickling  down. 

Lady  Nancy  she  died  as  it  might  be 
to-day, 
Lord  Lovel  he  died  as  to-morrow; 
Lady  Nancy  she  died  out  of  pure,  pure 
grief. 
Lord  Lovel  he  died  out  of  sorrow, 

sorrow, 
Lord  Lovel  he  died  out  of  sorrow. 

Lady  Nancy  was  laid  in  Saint  Pancras' 
church. 
Lord  Lovel  was  laid  in  the  choir ; 
And  out  of  her  bosom  there  grew  a  red 
rose. 
And  out  of  her  lover's  a  brier,  brier. 
And  out  of  her  lover's  a  brier. 


They    grew    and    they    grew,    to    the 
church  steeple  too. 
And  then  they  could  grow  no  higher  ; 
So  there  they  entwined  in  a  true  lover's 
knot. 
For  all  lovers  true  to  admire— mire, 
For  all  lovers  true  to  admire. 


THE  NORMAN  BARON. 
In  his  chamber,  weak  and  dying, 
Was  the  Norman  baron  Ij'ing ; 
Loud,  without,  the  tempest  thundered. 

And  the  castle  turret  shook. 

In  this  fight  was  death  the  gainer, 
Spite  of  vassal  and  retainer. 
And  the  lands  his  sires  had  plundered, 
Written  in  the  Domesday  Book 

By  his  bed  a  monk  was  seated. 
Who  in  humble  voice  repeated 
Many  a  prayer  and  pater-noster. 
From  the  missal  on  his  knee. 

And,  amid  the  tempest  pealing, 
Sounds  of  bells  come  faintly  steahng. 
Bells,     that    from    the    neighbouring 
kloster. 

Rang  for  the  Nativity. 

In  the  hall,  the  serf  and  vassal 

Held,     that     night,     their     Christraa.s 

wassail ; 
Many  a  carol,  old  and  saintly, 

Sang  the  minstrels  and  the  waits. 

And  so  loud  these  Saxon  gleemen 
Sang  to  slaves  the  songs  of  freemen. 
That  the  storm  was  heard  but  faintly. 
Knocking  at  the  castle  gates. 

Till  at  length  the  lays  they  chauntcd 
Reached  the  chamber  terror-haunted. 
Where  the  monk,  with  accents  holy. 
Whispered  at  the  baron's  ear. 

Tears  upon  his  eyelids  glistened, 
As  he  paused  awhile  and  hstened. 
And  the  dying  baron  slowly 

Turned  his  weary  head  to  hear. 

"  Wassail  for  the  kingly  stranger 
Born  and  cradled  in  a  manger  ! 
King,  like  David,  priest,  like  Aaron, 
Christ  is  born  to  set  us  free  I  " 


816 


Poems  for  Children. 


And  the  lightning  showed  the  sainted 
Figures  on  the  casement  painted. 
And  exclaimed  the  shuddering  baron, 
"  iliserere,  Domine  !  " 

111  that  hour  of  deep  contrition, 
He  beheld,  with  clearer  vision, 
Through  all  outward  show  and  fasliion, 
Justice,   the  Avenger,  rise. 

All  the  pomp  of  earth  had  vanished. 
Falsehood  and  deceit  were  banished. 
Reason  sjioke  more  loud  than  pasiiou. 
And  the  truth  wore  no  disguise. 

Every  vassal  of  his  banner. 
Every  serf  born  to  his  manor. 
All     those     wronged     and     wretched 
creatures, 

By  his  hand  were  freed  again. 

And,  as  on  ths  sacred  missal 
He  recorded  their  dismissal. 
Death  relaxed  his  iron  features. 

And  the  monk  replied,  "  Amen  !  " 

Many     centuries     have     since     been 

numbered 
Since  in  death  the  baron  slumbered 
By  the  convent's  sculptured  portal, 
Mngling  with  the  common  dust. 

But  the  good  deed,  through  the  ages 
Living  in  historic   pages. 
Brighter  glows  and  gleams  immortal, 
Unconsumed  by  moth  or  rust. 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


THE 


FOUNDING    OF 
PRIOBY. 


BOLTON 


YotJNG  Romilly  through  Barden  Woods 

Is  ranging  high  and  low. 
Ami  holds  a  greyhound  in  a  leash. 

To  let  slip  on  buck  or  doe. 

The    pair   have   reached   that   fearful 
chasm. 

How  tempting  to  bestride  ! 
For  lordly  Wharf  is  there  pent  in 

With  rocks  on  either  side. 

This  striding  place  is  called  "  the  Strid," 
A  name  which  it  took  of  yore  ; 


A  thouiaud  years  hath  it  borne  that 
name. 
And  shall  a  thousand  more. 

And  hither  is  young  Romilly  come  ; 

And  what  may  not  forbid 
That   he,    perhaps    for    the    hundreth 
time, 

Should  bound  across  the  Strid  ? 

He  sprang  in  glee — for  what  cared  he 
That  the  river  was  strong,  and  the 
rocks  were  steep  '! 
But  the  greyhound  in  the  le.ish  hung 
back. 
And  checked  him  in  his  leap  ! 

The  boy  is  in  the  arms  of  Wharf  ! 

And  strangled  with  a  merciless  force — 
For  never  more  was  young  Romilly 
seen 

Till  he  rose  a  lifeless  corse  ! 

Now  there  is  a  stillness  in  the  vale. 
And  long  unspeaking  sorrow  ; 

Wiiarf  shall  be  to  pitying  hearts 
A  name  more  sad  than  Yarrow. 

If  for  a  lover  the  lady  wept, 
A  solace  she  might  borrow 

From  death,  and  from  the  passion  of 
death. 
Old  Wharf  might  heal  her  sorrow. 

She  weeps  not  for  the  wedding-day 
Which  was  to  be  to-morrow  ; 

Her  hope  was  a  further-looking  hope, 
And_  hers  is  a  mother's  sorrow. 

He  was  a  tree  that  stood  alone. 

And  proudly  did  its  branches  wave ; 

And  the  root  of  this  delightful  tree 
Was  in  her  husband's  grave. 

Long,  long  in  darkness  did  she  sit, 
And    her    first    words    were,    '"  Let 
there  be 

In  Bolton,  on  the  field  of  Wharf, 
A  stately  Priory  !  " 

The  stately  Priory  was  reared. 
And  Wharf,  as  he  moved  along. 

To  matins  joined  a  mournful   voice. 
Nor  failed  at  even-song. 

And  the  lady  prayed  in  heaviness 
That  looked  not  for  relief ; 


Ballads. 


317 


Flit  slowly  did  her  succour  come. 
And  patience  to  her  grief. 

Oh  !  tl'.cro  is  never  sorrow  of  heart 
That  shall  lack  a  timely  end, 

If  but  to  (Jod  we  turn,  and  ask 
Of  Him  to  be  our  Friend. 

William   Wordsworth. 


MARY  AMBREE. 

When     captains     codrageous,     whom 

death  could  not  daunt. 
Did  march  to  the  siege  of  the  city  of 

(iaunt, 
riicy  mustered  their  soldiers    by   two 

and  by  three. 
And  the  foremost  in  battle  was  Mary 

Ambree. 

When  brave  Sir  John  Major  was  slain 
in  her  sight, 

W'lio  was  her  true  lover,  her  joy,  and 
ilelight, 

!>ecause  he  was  slain  most  treacher- 
ously, 

'J'hcn  vowed  to  revenge  him,  Mary 
Ambree. 

Slie   clothed   herself  from   top   to   the 

toe 
In  buff  of  the  bravest,  most  seendy  to 

show  : 
A   fair   shirt  of   mail  then   slipped   on 

she  ; 
^\'as  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lass,  Mary 

Ambree  ? 

A    helmet   of   proof   she    straight    did 

provide, 
A  strong  arming  sword  she  girt  by  her 

side, 
On  her  hand  a  goodly  fair  gauntlet  put 

she  ; 
Was  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lass,  Mary 

Ambree  ? 

"  My  soldiers,"  she  saith,  "  so  vahant 

and  bold, 
Now   follow  your  captain,   whom  you 

do  behold  ; 
Mill  foremost  in  battle  myself  will  I 

be  !  " 
Was  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lass,  Mary 

Ambree  ? 


Then  cried  out  her  soldiers,  and  loud 

did  they  say, 
"  So   well   thou   becomest  this  gallant 

ariay, 
Thy  heart  and  thy  weapons  so  well  do 

agree, 
There     was     none     ever     like     Mary 

Ambree  !  " 

She  cheered  her  soldiers,  that  fonghtcn 

for  life, 
With  ancient  and  standard,  with  drum 

and    with   fife, 
A\'ith    brave    clanging    trumpets,    that 

sounded  so  free  ; 
\Vas  not  tliis  a  brave  bonny  lass,  Mary 

Ambree  ? 

"  Before  I  will  see  the  worst  of  you  all 
To  come  into  danger  of  death    or  of 

thrall, 
This  hand  and  this  life  I  will  venture 

so  free  ;  " 
AV'as  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lass,  Mary 

Ambree  ? 

She  led  up  her  soldiers  in  battle  array, 
'(Jainst   throe  times   their   nundjer,   by 

break  of  the  tlay  ; 
Seven  hours  in  skirmish  continued  she  ; 
^Vas  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lass,  Mary 

Ambree  ? 

She  filled  the  skies  with  smoke  of  her 

shot, 
And  her  enemies'  bodies  with  bullets 

so  hot ; 
For  one  of  her  own  men  a  score  killed 

she  ; 
Was  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lass,  Mary 

Ambree  ? 

And  when  a  false  gunner,  to  spoil  her 

intent. 
Away  with  her  pellets  and  powder  had 

sent. 
Straight   with   her   keen   weapons  she 

slashed  him  in  three  ; 
Was  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lass,  Mary 

Ambree  ? 

Being  falsely  betrayed  for  lucre  of  hire, 
At  length  she  was  forced  to  make  a 

retire  ; 
Then  her  soldiers  into  a  strong  castle 

drew  she  ; 
Was  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lass,  Mary 

Ambree  '/ 


318 


Poems   for  Children. 


Her  foes  tliey  beset  her  on  every  side, 
As  thinking  close  siege  she  coiild  never 

abide  ; 
To  beat  down  the  walls  they  all  did 

decree  ; 
But  stoutly  defied  them  brave  Mary 

Ambree. 

Then  took  she  her  sword  and  her  target 

in  hand, 
And  mounting  the  walls  undainited  did 

stand. 
There  daring  their  captains  to  match 

any  three, 
O,    what   a   brave   captain   was   Mary 

Ambree  ! 

"  Now    say,     English     captain,     what 

would'st  thou  give 
To   ransom   thyself,    which   else   must 

not  hve  ? 
Come,   yield   thyself  quickly,   or  slain 

thou  must  be." 
Then     smiled     sweetly     brave     Mary 

Ambree. 

"  Ye  captains  courageous,  of  valour  so 

bold. 
Whom   thinkest  you  before  you  now 

do  behold  ? 
"  A  knight,  sir,  of  England,  and  captain 

so  free. 
Who  shortly  with  us  a  prisoner  must  be." 

"  No  captain  of  England  ;  behold  in 
your  sight. 

Though  attired  as  a  soldier,  I  am  truly 
no  knight ; 

No  Knight,  sirs  of  England,  nor  cap- 
tain you  see. 

But  a  poor  simple  lass,  called  Mary 
Ambree." 

"  But  art  thou  a  woman  as  thou  dost 
declare. 

Whose  valour  hath  proved  so  un- 
daunted in  war  ? 

If  England  doth  yield  such  brave  lasses 
as  thee. 

Full  well  may  they  conquer,  fair  Mary 
Ambree  !  " 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST 
MINSTREL. 

The  way  was  long,  the  wind  \\  as  cold. 
The  Minstrel  was  infirm  and  old  ; 


His  withered  cheek  and  tresses  gray 
Seemed  to  have  known  a  better  day  : 
The  harp,  his  sole  remaining  joy. 
Was  carried  by  an  orphan  boy  : 
The  last  of  all  the  Bards  was  he. 
Who  sung  of  Border  chivalry. 
For,  well-a-day  !  their  date  was  fled. 
His  tuneful  brethren  all  were  dead ; 
And  he,  neglected  and  oppressed. 
Wished  to  be  with  them,  and  at  rest. 
No  more,  on  prancing  palfrey  borne, 
He  carolled,  light  as  lark  at  morn  ; 
No  longer  courted  and  caressed. 
High-placed  in  hall,  a  welcome  guest. 
He  poured,  to  lord  and  lady  gay. 
The  unpremeditated  lay  ; 
Old  times  were  changed — old  manners 

gone — 
A  stranger  filled  the  Stuarts'  throne. 
The  bigots  of  the  iron  time 
Had  called  his  harmless  art — a  crime 
A  wandering  harper,  scorned  and  poor. 
He  begged  his  bread  from  door  to  door  ; 
And  tuned,  to  please  a  peasant's  ear. 
The  harp,  a  king  had  loved  to  hear. 
He    passed,    where    Newark's    stately 

tower 
Looks     out    from     Yarrow's     birchen 

bower : 
The  ilinstrel  gazed  with  Avishful  eye — • 
No  humbler  resting-place  was  nigh 
With  hesitating  step,  at  last, 
The  embattled  portal-arch  he  passed  ; 
Whose  ponderous  grate  and  massy  bar 
Had  oft  rolled  back  the  tide  of  war. 
But  never  closed  the  iron  door 
Against  the  desolate  and  poor. 
The  Duchess  marked  his  weary  pace. 
His  timid  mien  and  reverend  face  ; 
And  bade  her  page  the  menials  tell 
That  they  should   tend  the  old  man 

well  ;— 
For  she  had  known  adversity. 
Though  born  in  such  a  high  degree  ; 
In  pride  of  power,  in  beauty's  bloom. 
Had    wept    o'er    Monmouth's    bloody 

tomb. 
When  kindness  had  his  wants  supplied. 
And  the  old  man  was  gratified. 
Began  to  rise  his  minstrel  pride ; 
And  he  began  to  talk,  anon. 
Of  good  Earl  Francis,  dead  and  gone  ; 
And  of  Earl  Walter — rest  him  God  !  — 
A  braver  ne'er  to  battle  rode  : 
And  how  full  many  a  tale  he  knew 
Of  the  old  warriors  of  Buccleugh  ; 
And,  would  the  noble  Duchess  deign 


Ballads. 


319 


To  listen  to  an  old  man's  strain, 
Though  stiff  his  hand,  his  voice  though 

Aveak, 
He  thought,  even  yet, — the  sooth  to 

speak, — 
That  if  she  loved  the  harp  to  hear, 
He  could  make  music  to  her  ear. 
The  humble  boon  was  soon  obtained  ; 
The  aged  Minstrel  audience  gained  ; 
But  when    he   reached    the    room    of 

state. 
Where  she,  with  all  her  ladies,  sat. 
Perchance  he  wished  his  boon  denied  ; 
For,  when  to  tune  his  harp  he  tried. 
His  trembling  hand  had  lost  the  ease 
Which  marks  security  to  please  ; 
And  scenes,  long  past,  of  joy  and  pain. 
Came  wildering  o'er  his  aged  brain  ; — 
He  tried  to  tune  his  harp,  in  vain. 
Amiil  the  strings   his  lingers  strayed. 
And  an  uncertain  warbling  made  ; 
And,  oft,  he  shook  his  hoary  head. 
But    when     he    caught    the    measure 

wild, 
The  old  man  raised  his  face,  and  smiled  ; 
And  lighted  up  his  faded  eye. 
With  ail  a  poet's  ecstacy  ! 
In  varying  cadence,  soft  or  strong. 
He  swept  the  sounding  chords  along  ; 
The  present  scene,  the  future  lot, 
His  toils,  his  wants,  were  all  forgot ; 
Cold  diffidence,  and  age's  frost, 
In  the  full  tide  of  soul  were  lost  ; 
Each  blank  in  faithless  memorj-^'s  void, 
The  poet's  glowing  thought  supplied  ; 
And,  wliile  his  harp  responsive  rung, 
'Twas  thus  the  latest  minstrel  sung  :  — 
"  Breathes  there  the  man,   with  soul 

so  dead, — 
Who  never  to  himself  hath  said. 
This  is  my  own,  my  native  land  ! — 
Whose   heart   hath   ne'er   within   him 

burned, 
As  home  his  footsteps  he  hath  tuined 
From  wandering  on  a  foreign  strand  ? 
If  such  there  breathe,  go — mark  liim 

weU; 
For  him,  no  minstrel  rajitures  swell: 
High  though  his  titles,  proud  his  name. 
Boundless  his  wealth,  as  wish  can  claim  ; 
Despite  those  titles,  power  and  pelt. 
The  wretch,  concentred  all  in  self, 
Living,  shall  forfeit  fair  renown. 
And,  doubly  dying,  shall  go  down 
To  the  vile  dust  from  whence  he  sprunt;, 
Unwept,  unhonoured,  and  unsung  ! 

ib't'r   Waller  Hcott. 


LOCHINVAR. 

O,  YOtTNG  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of  the 

west, 
Through  all  the  wide  Border  his  steed 

was  the  best. 
And    save    his    good    broadsword    lie 

weapons  had  none  ; 
He  rode  all  unarmed,  and  he  rode  all 

alone. 
So  faithful  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in 

war. 
There  never  was  knight  like  the  young 

Lochinvar. 

He    stayed    not    for    brake,    and    he 

stopped  not  for  stone. 
He  swam   the  Eske  river  where  ford 

there  was  none  ; 
But,  ere  he  alighted  at  Netherby  gate, 
The  bride  had  consented,  the  gallant 

came  late  : 
For  a  laggard  in  love,  and  a  dastard  in 

war. 
Was  to  wed   the  fair  Ellen   of   brave 

Lochinvar. 

So  boldly  he  entered  the  Netherby  hall, 
Among  bride's-men  and  kinsmen,  and 

brothers  and  all : 
Then  spoke  the  bride's  father,  his  hand 

on  his  sword 
(For  the  poor  craven  bridegroom  said 

never  a  word), 
"  O  come  ye  in  peace  here,  or  come 

ye  in  war. 
Or  to  dance  at  our  bridal,  young  Lord 

Lochinvar  ?  " 

"  I  long  wooed  your  daughter,  my  suit 

you  denied  ; — 
Love  s^'^•ells  like  the  Solway,  but  ebbs 

hke  its  tide — 
And  now  I  am  come,  with  this  lost  love 

of  mine. 
To  lead  but  one  measure,  drink  one 

cup  of  wine. 
There  are  maidens  in  Scotland  more 

lovely  by  far, 
That  would  gladly  be  bride  to  the  young 

Lochinvar." 

The  bride  kissed  the  goblet ;  the  knight 

took  it  up. 
He  quaffed  off  the  wine,  and  he  threw 

down  the  cup, 


320 


Poems  for  Children. 


iSlie  looked   down  to  blush,   and  she 

looked  up  to  sigh, 
"With  a  smile  on  her  lips  and  a  tear  in 

lier  eye. 
He  took  her  soft  hand,  ere  her  mother 

could  bar, — 
"  Now   tread    we    a   measure !  "    said 

young  Lochinvar. 

So  stately  his  form,  and  so  lovely  her 

face. 
That  never  a  haU  such  a  gaUiard  did 

grace  ; 
AN'hile  her  mother  did  fret,   and  her 

father  did  fume. 
And  the  bridegroom  stood  dangling  his 

bormet  and  plume  ; 
And     the     bride-maidens     whispered, 

"  'Twere  better  by  far 
To  have  matched  our  fair  cousin  with 

young  Lochinvar." 

One  touch  to  her  hand,  and  one  word 

in  her  ear. 
When  they  reached  the  haU  door,  and 

the  charger  stood  near  ; 
So  hght  to  the  croupe  the  fair  lady  he 

swung. 
So  light  to  the  saddle  before  her  he 

sprung  ! 
"She  is  won  !  we  are  gone,  over  bank, 

bush,  and  scaur ; 
They'll  have  fleet  steeds  that  follow," 

quoth  young  Lochinvar. 

There  was  mounting  among  Graemes  of 

the  Netherby  clan ; 
Forsters,    Fenwicks,    and    Musgraves, 

they  rode  and  they  ran : 
There    was    racing,    and    chasing,    on 

Cannobie  Lee, 
But  the  lost  bride  of  Netherby  ne'er 

did  they  see. 
So  daring  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in 

war. 
Have  ye  e'er  heard  of  gallant  Uke  young 

Lochinvar  ? 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 


THE    BATTLE    OF   BLENHEIM. 

It  was  a  summer  evening. 
Old  Kaspar's  work  was  done. 

And  he  before  his  cottage  door 
Was  sitting  in  the  sun ; 


And  by  him  sported  on  the  green. 
His  httle  grandchild,  Wilhelmine. 

She  saw  her  brother  Peterkin 
Roll  something  large  and  round. 

That  he  beside  the  rivulet 
In  playing  there  had  found  ; 

She  ran  to  ask  what  he  had  found, 

That  was  so  large,  and  smooth,  and 
round. 

Old  Kaspar  took  it  from  the  boy. 
Who  stood  expectant  by  ; 

And  then  the  old  man  shook  his  head. 
And  with  a  natural  sigh — 

"  'Tis  some  poor  fellow's  skull,"  said  he, 

"  Who  fell  in  the  great  victory. 

"  I  find  them  in  my  garden,  for 

There's  many  hereabout ; 
And  often  when  I  go  to  plough 

The  ploughshare  turns  them  out ; 
For  many  thousand  men,"  said  he, 
"  Were  slain  in  that  great  victory." 

"  Now  tell  us  what  'twas  all  about," 

Young  Peterkin,  he  cries. 
And  little  Wilhelmine  looks  up 

With  wonder-waiting  eyes, 
"  Now  teU  us  all  about  the  war. 
And  what  they  killed  each  other  for  ?  " 

"  It  was  the  English,"  Kaspar  cried, 
"  Who  put  the  French  to  rout ; 

But  what  they  kill'd  each  other  for 
I  could  not  well  make  out. 

But  everybody  said,"  quoth  he, 

"  That  'twaa  a  famous  victory  1 

*'  My  father  lived  at  Blenheim  then. 
Yon  little  stream  hard  by  ; 

They  burn'd  his  dweUing  to  the  ground. 
And  he  was  forced  to  fly  : 

So  with  his  wife  and  child  he  fled. 

Nor  had  he  where  to  rest  his  head ! 

"  With    fire   and   sword   the    country 
round 

Was  wasted  far  and  wide ; 
And  many  a  childing  mother  then 

And  new-born  baby  died  ! 
But  things  like  that,  you  know,  must  be 
At  every  famous  victory. 

"  They  say  it  was  a  shocking  sight 
After  the  field  was  won ; 


Ballads. 


.•^21 


For  many  thousand  bodies  here 

Lay  rotting  in  tlie  sun  ! 
But  things  Hke  that,  you  know,  must  be 

After  a  famous  victory. 

"  Great  praise  the  Duke  of  Marlborough 
won. 

And  our  good  Prince  Eugene." 
"  Why,  'twas  a  very  wicked  thing  !  " 

Said  little  Wilhclmine. 
"  Nay,  nay,  my  little  girl,"  quoth  iie, 
"  It  was  a  famous  victory  ! 

"  And  everybody  praised  the  Duke 
Who  this  great  fight  did  win." 

"  But  what  good  came  of  it  at  last  ?  " 
Quoth  little  Peterkiu. 

"  Why,  that  I  cannot  tell,"  said  he, 

"  But  'twaa  a  famous  victory." 

Robert  Sovlhey. 


THE  PAIiMEB. 

"  Open  the  door,  some  pity  to  f5how  ! 

Keen  blows  the  northern  wind  ! 
The  glen  is  white  with  drifted  snow. 

And  the  path  is  hard  to  find. 

"  No  outlaw  seeks  your  castle  gate, 
From  chasing  the  king's  deer, 

Though  even  an  outlaw's  wretched  state 
Might  claim  compassion  here. 

"  A  weary  Palmer,  worn  and  weak, 

I  wander  for  mj'  sin. 
O,  open,  for  Our  Lady's  sake  I 

A  pilgrim's  blessing  win  ! 

*'  The  hare  is  crouching  in  her  form, 

The  hart  beside  the  hind  ; 
An  aged  man  amid  the  storm. 

No  shelter  can  I  find. 

*'  You  hear  the  Ettrick'a  sullen  roar. 
Dark,  deep,  and  strong  is  he. 

And  I  must  ford  the  Ettrick  o'er. 
Unless  you  pity  me. 

"  The  iron  gate  is  bolted  hard. 

At  which  I  knock  in  vain  ; 
The  owner's  heart  is  closer  barr'd 

Who  hears  me  thus  complain. 

"  Farewell,  farewell  !  and  Heaven  grant, 
When  old  and  frail  you  be. 


^'ou  never  may  the  shelter  want. 
That's  now  denied  to  nie  !  " 

The  Ranger  on  his  couch  lay  warm. 
And  heard  him  plead  in  vain  ; 

But  oft,  amid  December's  storm, 
He'll  hear  that  voice  again. 

For  lo,  when  through  the  vapours  dank 

Morn  shone  on  Ettrick  fair, 
A  corpse  amid  the  alders  rank, 

The  Palmer  weltered  there. 

Sir    Walter  Scott. 


THE  INCHCAPE  ROCK. 

No  stir  in  the  air,  no  stir  in  the  sea. 
The  ship  was  as  still  as  she  could  be  ; 
Her    sails    from    heaven    received    no 

motion. 
Her  keel  was  steady  in  the  ocean. 

Without  either  sign  or  sound  of  their 

shock. 
The   waves   flow'd  over  the  Inchcape 

Rock  ; 
So  little  they  rose,  so  little  they  fell, 
They  ditl  not  move  the  Inchcape  bell. 

The  good  Abbot  of  Aberbrothok 
Had  placed  that  bell  on  the  Inchcape 

Rock  ; 
On  a  buoy  in  the  storm  it  floated  and 

swung, 
And  over  the  waves  its  warning  rung. 

When  the  rock  was  hid  by  the  surge's 

swell. 
The  mariners  heard  the  warning  bell : 
And  then  they  knew  the  perilous  rock. 
And  blest  the  Abbot  of  Aberbrothok. 

The  sun  in  heaven  was  shining  gay 
All  things  were  joyful  on  that  day  : 
The  sea-birds  scream'd  as  they  wheel 'd 

around. 
And  there  was  joyance  in  their  sound 

The  buoy  of  the  Inchcape  bell  was  seen, 
A  darker  speck  on  the  ocesn  green  ; 
Sir  Ralph  the  Rover  walk'd  his  deck, 
And  he  fixed  his  eye  on  the  darker  speck, 

21 


322 


Poems  for  Children. 


He  felt  the  cheering  power  of  spring. 
It  made  him  whistle,  it  made  him  sing  ; 
His  heart  was  mirthful  to  excess — 
But  the  Rover's  mirth  was  wickedness. 

His  eyes  were  on  the  Inchcape  float : 
Quoth  he,  "  My  men,  put  out  the  boat, 
And  row  me  to  the  Inchcape  Rock, 
And  I'll  plague  the  Abbot  of  Aber- 
brothok." 

The  boat  is  lower'd,  the  boatmen  row, 
And  to  the  Inchcape  Rock  they  go  ; 
Sir  Ralph  bent  over  from  the  boat. 
And  he  cut  the  bell  from  the  Inchcape 
float. 

Down  sunk  the  bell  with  a  gurgling 

sound — 
The  bubbles  rose  and  burst  around  ; 
Quoth  Sir  Ralph,  "  The  next  who  comes 

to  the  Rock 
Won't  bless  the  Abbot  of  Aberbrothok." 

Sir  Ralph  the  Rover  sail'd  away  ; 
He  scoured  the  seas  for  many  a  day  ; 
And,  now  gro'wn  rich  with  phmder'd 

store. 
He  steers  his  course  for  Scotland's  shore. 

So  thick  a  haze  o'erspreads  the  sky. 
They  cannot  see  the  sun  on  high  ; 
The  wind  hath  blown  a  gale  all  day. 
At  evening  it  hath  died  away. 

On  the  deck  the  Rover  takes  his  stand. 

So  dark  it  is  they  see  no  land. 

Quoth  Sir  Ralph,   "  It  will  be  lighter 

soon. 
For  there   is  the  dawn  of  the  rising 

moon." 

"  Canst  hear,"  said  one,  "  the  breakers 

roar  ? 
For  methinks  we  should  be  near  the 

shore. 
Now  where  we  are  I  cannot  teU, 
But  I  wish  I  could  hear  the  Inchcape 

bell." 

They    hear    no    sound — the    swell    is 

strong  ; 
Though  the  wind  hath  fallen  they  drift 

along 
Till  the  vessel  strikes  with  a  shivering 

shock — 
"  xVIercy  !  it  is  the  Inch  ape  Rock  !  " 


Sir  Ralph  the  Rover  tore  his  hair. 
And  beat  his  breast  in  his  despair  : 
The  waves  rush  in  on  every  side. 
And  the  ship  sinks  down  beneath  the 
tide. 

Robert  Sovthey. 


FATHER  WILLIAM. 
"  Yotr  are  old.  Father  William,"  the 
young  man  cried  ; 
"  The  few  locks  that  are  left  you  are 
gray: 
You  are  hale,  Father  William,  a  hearty 
old  man  ; 
Now  tell  me  the  reason,  I  pray." 

"  In  the  days  of  my  youth,"  Father 
WiUiam  replied, 
"  I  remembered  that  youth   would 
fly  fast ; 
And  abused  not  my  health  and   my 
vigour  at  first. 
That  I  never  might  need  them  at 
last." 

"  You  are  old.   Father  William,"  the 
young  man  cried, 
"  And    pleasures    Mith    j'outh    pass 
away ; 
And  yet  you  lament  not  the  days  that 
are  gone  ; 
Now  tell  me  the  reason,  I  pray." 

"  In  the  days  of  my  youth,"  Father 
William  replied, 
"  I    remembered    that   youth    could 
not  last ; 
I  thought  of  the  future,  whatever  I  did, 
That  I  never  might  grieve  for  the 
past." 

"  You  are  old,   Father  William,"   the 
young  man  cried, 
"  And  life  must  be  hastening  away  : 
You  are  cheerful,  and  love  to  converso 
upon  death  ; 
Now  tell  me  the  reason,  I  pray." 

"  I  am  cheerful,  young  man,"  Father 

William  replied  ; 

"  Let  the  cause  thy  attention  engage  ; 

In  the  days  of  my  youth  I  remembered 

my  CotI, 

And  He  hath  not  forgotten  my  age  !  " 

Robert  Sovthey 


Ballads. 


823 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE 
HESPERUS. 

It  was  the  schooner  Hesperus, 

That  sailed  the  wintry  sea  : 
And   the  skipper  had  taken  his  httle 
daughter, 

To  bear  him  company. 

Bhie  were  her  ej'es,  as  the  fairy-flax. 
Her  cheeks  like  the  dawn  of  day, 

And  her  bosom  white  as  the  hawtliorn 
buds. 
That  ope  in  the  month  of  May. 

The  skipper  he  stood  beside  the  helm. 
His  pipe  was  in  his  mouth  ; 

And  he  watched  how  the  veering  flaw 
did  blow 
The  smoke  now  West,  now  South. 

Then  up  and  spake  an  old  Sailor, 
Had  sailed  the  Spanish  Main  : 

"  I  pray  thee,  put  into  yonder  port, 
For  1  fear  a  hurricane. 

"  Last  night,  the  moon  had  a  golden 

ring. 

And  to-night  no  moon  we  see  !   ' 

The  skipper,  he  blew  a  whiif  from  his 

pipe. 

And  a  scornful  laugh  laughed  he. 

Colder  and  louder  blew  the  wind, 
A  gale  from  the  North-east  ; 

The  snow  fell  hissing  in  the  brine. 
And  the  billows  frothed  like  yeast. 

Down  came  the  storm,  and  smote  amain 
The  vessel  in  its  strength  ; 

She    shuddered    and    paused,    like    a 
frighted  steed, 
Then  leaped  her  cable's  length. 

"  C'oiue  hither  !  come  hither  !  my  little 
(laughter. 

And  do  not. tremble  so  ; 
For  I  can  weather  the  roughest  gale. 

That  ever  wind  did  blow." 

He  wrapped  her  warm  in  his  seaman's 
coat. 

Against  the  stinging  blast ; 
He  cut  a  rope  from  a  broken  spar, 

And  bound  her  to  th  •  mast. 


''  O  father  !  I  hear  the  chuich-bells  ring, 

O  say,  what  may  it  be  '!  " 
"  'Tis    a    fog-bell    on    a    rock-bound 
coast  !  " — 

And  he  steered  for  the  open  sea. 

"  O  father  !  I  hear  the  sound  of  guns, 

O  say,  what  may  it  be  V  " 
"  Some  ship  in  distress,  that  cannot  live 

In  such  an  angry  sea  !  " 

"  0  father  !  I  see  a  gleaming  light, 

O  say,  what  may  it  be  ?  " 
But  the  father  answered  never  a  word, 

A  frozen  corpse  was  he. 

Lashed  to  the  helm,  all  stiff  and  stark, 
With  his  face  turned  to  the  skies  ; 

The  lantern  gleamed  through  the  gleam- 
ing snow 
On  his  fixed  and  glassy  eyes. 

Then    the   maiden   clasped   her  hands, 
and  prayed 
That  saved  she  might  be  ; 
And  she  thought  of  Christ,  who  stilled 
the  waves. 
On  the  Lake  of  Galilee. 

And  fast  through  the  midnight  dark 
and  drear, 

Through  the  whistling  sleet  and  snow. 
Like  a  sheeted  ghost,  the  vessel  swept 

Towards  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe. 

And  ever  the  fitful  gusts  between 
A  sound  came  from  the  land  ; 

It  was  the  sound  of  the  trampling  suif. 
On  the  rocks  and  the  hard  sea-sand. 

The  breakers  were  right  beneath  her 
bows. 

She  drifted  a  weary  wreck. 
And  a  whooping  billow  swept  the  crew 

Like  icicles  from  her  deck. 

She  struck  where  the  white  and  fleecy 
waves 

Looked  soft  as  carded  wool. 
But  the  cruel  rocks,  they  gored  her  side, 

Like  the  horns  of  an  angry  bull. 

Her  rattling  shrouds,  all  sheathed  in  ice. 
With  the  masts,  went  liy  the  board  : 

Like  a  vessel  of  glass,  she  stove  and  sank, 
Ho  !  ho  !  the  breakers  roared  ! 

21* 


324 


Poems   for  Children. 


At  daybreak,  on  the  bleak  sea-beach, 

A  fisherman  stood  aghast, 
To  see  the  form  of  a  maiden  fair, 

Lashed  close  to  a  drifting  mast. 

The  salt  sea  "^vas  frozen  on  her  breast. 
The  salt  tears  in  her  eyes  ; 

And  he  saw  her  hair,  like  the  brown 
sea- weed. 
On  the  billows  faU  and  rise. 

Such  was  the  wreck  of  the  Hesperus, 
In  the  midnight  and  the  snow  ! 

Christ  save  us  all  from  a  death  like  this, 
On  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe  ! 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


SIR  HUMPHREY  GILBERT. 

SoTTTHWARD  witli  fleet  of  ice 

Sailed  the  corsair  death  ; 
Wild  and  fast  blew  the  blast, 

And  the  east  M'ind  was  his  breath. 

His  lordly  ships  of  ice 

Glistened  in  the  sun, 
On  each  side  like  pennons  wide 

Flashing  crystal  streamlets  run. 

His  sails  of  white  sea-mist 

Dripped  with  a  silver  rain, 
But  where  passed  there  were  cast 

Leaden  shadows  o'er  the  main. 

Eastward  from  Campobello 
Sir  Humphrey  Gilbert  sailed. 

Three  days  or  more  eastward  he  bore, 
Then  alas  !  the  land-wind  failed. 

Alas  !  the  land-wind  failed, 
And  ice-cold  grew  the  night. 

And  never  more  on  sea  or  shore. 

Should  Sir  Humphrey  see  the  liglit. 

He  sat  upon  the  deck. 

The  book  was  in  his  hand, 
"  Do  not  fear  !  heaven  is  as  near," 

He  said,  "  by  water  as  by  land." 

In  the  first  watch  of  the  night 

Without  a  signal'    sound 
Out  of  the  sea  mysteriously. 

The  fleet  of  death  rose  all  around. 


The  moon  and  the  evening  star 
Were  hanging  in  the  shrouds. 

Every  mast  as  it  passed, 

Seemed  to  rake  the  passing  clouds. 

Thej'  grappled  with  their  prize 
At  midnight  black  and  cold. 

As  of  a  rock  was  the  shock, 

Heavily  the  ground  swell  rolled. 

Southward  through  clay  and  dark, 
They  drift  in  close  embrace. 

With    mist   and    rain  to    the   Spanish 
Main, 
Yet  there  seems  no  change  of  place 

Southward  for  ever  southward 
They  drift  through  dark  and  day. 

And  like  a  dream  in  the  Gulf  Stream 
Sinking  vanish  all  away. 

Henry  Wadsworth  Lony/ellow. 


THE  SLAVE'S  DREAM. 

Beside  the  ungathered  rice  he  lay. 

His  sickle  in  his  hand  ; 
His  breast  was  bare,  his  matted  hair 

Was  buried  in  the  sand. 
Again  in  the  mist  and  shadow  of  sleep 

He  saw  his  native  land. 

Wide    through    the   landscape    of    liii 
dreams 

The  lordly  Niger  flowed. 
Beneath  the  palm-trees  on  the  plain 

Once  more  a  king  he  strode  ; 
And  heard  the  tinkling  caravans 

Descend  the  mountain-road. 

He  saw  once  more  his  dark-eyed  queen 
Among  her  children  stand  ; 

They  clasped  his  neck,  they  kissed  his 
cheeks, 
They  held  him  by  the  hand  !  — 

A  tear  burst  from  the  sleeper's  lids   - 
And  fell  into  the  sand. 

\nd  then  at  furious  speed  he  rode 

Along  the  Niger's  bank  ; 
His  bridle-reins  were  golden  ehains. 

And,  with  a  martial  clank. 
At  each  leap  he  could  feel  his  scalil)aiil 
of  steel 

Smiting  his  stallion's  flank. 


Ballad; 


325 


Before  him  like  a  blood-red  flag. 
The  bright  flamingoes  flew  ; 

From  morn  till  night  he  followed  their 
flight. 
O'er  plains  where  the  tamarind  grew, 

Till  he  saw  the  roofs  of  Caffre  huts. 
And  the  ocean  rose  to  view. 

At  night  he  heard  the  lion  roar. 

And  the  hyaena  scream, 
And  the  river-horse  as  he  crushed  the 
reeds 
Beside  some  hidden  stream  ; 
And  it  passed,  like  a  glorious  roll  of 
drums, 
Through  the  triumph  of  his  dream. 

The  forests,  with  their  myriad  tongues. 

Shouted  of  liberty  ; 
And  the  Blast  of  the  Desert  cried  aloud, 

With  a  voice  so  wild  and  free, 
Ti  at  he  started  in  his  sleep  and  smiled 

At  their  tempestuous  glee. 

He  did  not  feel  the  driver's  whip, 
Xo    tlic  burning  heat  of  day  ; 

For  Death  had  illumined  the  Land  of 
Sleep, 
And  liis  lifeless  body  lay 

A  worn-out  fetter,  that  the  soul 
Had  broken  and  tlirown  away  ! 

Henry  Wadsworth  Lonjfellow. 


BETH   GELERT. 

The  spearmen  heard  the  bugle  sound. 
And  cheer'ly  smiled  the  morn  ; 

And  many  a  brach,  and  many  a  hound, 
Attend  Llewellyn's  horn. 

And  still  he  blew  a  louder  blast. 

And  gave  a  louder  cheer  ; 
"  Come,  Gelert,  why  art  thou  the  last 

Llewellyn's  horn  to  hear  ? 

"  Oh,  where  does  faithful  Gelert  roam, 

The  flower  of  all  his  race. 
So  true,  so  brave — a  lamb  at  home, 

A  hon  in  the  chase." 

That  day  Llewellyn  little  loved 

The    hase  of  hart  or  hare, 
And  scant  and  small  the  booty  proved, 

For  Gelert  was  not  there. 


Unpleased,  Llewellyn  homeward  hied. 
When,  near  the  portal  seat. 

His  truant  Gelert  he  espied, 
Bounding  his  lord  to  greet. 

But  when  he  gained  the  castle  door. 
Aghast  the  chieftain  stood  ; 

The  hound  was  smeared  with  gouts  of 
gore. 
His  lips  and  fangs  ran  blood  ! 

Llewellyn  gazed  with  wild  surprise  : 

Unused  such  looks  to  meet. 
His  favourite  checked  his  joyful  guise, 

And  crouched,  and  licked  his  feet. 

Onward  in  haste  Llewellyn  passed 

(And  on  went  Gelert,  too), 
And  still  where'er  his  eyes  were  cast. 

Flesh  blood-gouts  shocked  his  view  ! 

O'erturned  his  infant's  bed  he  found, 
The  bloodstained  cover  rent ; 

And  all  around  the  walls  and  ground 
With  recent  blood  besprent. 

He  called  his  child — no  voice  replied  ; 

He  searched  with  terror  wild  ; 
Blood  !  blood  !  he  found  on  every  side, 

But  nowhere  found  his  child  ! 

"  Hell-hound  !     by     thee     my     child's 
devoured  !  " 

The  frantic  father  cried  ; 
And  to  the  hilt  his  vengeful  sword 

He  plunged  in  Gelert's  side. 

His  suppliant,  as  to  earth  he  fell. 

No  pity  could  impart ; 
But  still  his  Gelert's  dying  yell. 

Passed  heavy  o'er  his  heart. 

Aroused  by  Gelert's  dying  yell. 
Some  slumberer  wakened  nigh  ; 

What  words  the  parent's  joy  can  tell, 
To  hear  his  infant  cry  1 

Concealed  beneath  a  mangled  heap. 
His  hurried  search  had  missed, 

All  glowing  from  his  rosy  sleep. 
His  cherub-boy  he  kissed  ! 

Nor  scratch  had  he,  nor  harm,  nor  dread 
But  the  same  couch  beneath 

Lay  a  great  wolf,  all  torn  and  dead. 
Tremendous  still  in  death  1 


326 


Poems  for  Children. 


Ah  !  what  was  then  Llewellyn's  pain  ! 

For  now  the  truth  was  clear  : 
The  gallant  hound  the  wolf  had  slain. 

To  save  LlewelljTi's  heir. 

Vain,  vain  was  all  Llewellj'n's  woe ; 

■'  Best  of  thy  kind,  adieu  ! 
The  frantic  deed  which  laid  thee  low 

This  heart  shall  ever  rue  !  " 

And  now  a  gallant  tomb  they  raised. 
With  costly  sculptinre  decked  ; 

And  maxbles  storied  with  his  praise 
Poor  Gelert's  bones  protect. 

Here  never  could  the  spearman  pass. 

Or  forester,  unmoved, 
Here  oft  the  tear  besprinkled  grass 

Llewellyn's  sorrow  proved. 

And  here  he  hung  his  horn  and  spear. 

And  oft,  as  evening  fell, 
In  fancy's  piercing  sounds  would  hear 

Poor  Gelert's  djring  yell. 

Hon.   William  Robert  Spencer, 


THE   'WELL   OF    ST,   KEYNE,» 

A  WELL  there  is  in  the  west-country. 
And  a  clearer  one  never  was  seen  ; 

'j'liere  is  not  a  wife  in  the  west-country 
But  has  heard  of  the  well  of  St.KejTie. 

An  oak  and  an  elm  tree  stand  beside. 
And  behind  does  an  ash-tree  grow, 

And  a  willow  from  the  bank  above 
Droops  to  the  water  below. 

A  traveller  came  to  the  well  of  St.Keyne : 

Pleasant  it  was  to  his  eye, 
For  from  cock-crow  he  had  been  travel- 
ling 

And  there  was  not  a  cloud  in  the  sky. 

He  drank  of  the  water  so  cool  and  clear. 

For  thirsty  and  hot  was  he. 
And  he  sat  down  upon  the  bank. 

Under  the  willow  tree. 

*  I  know  not  whether  it  be  worth  reporting 
that  there  is  in  Cornwall,  near  the  paii.h  ol  St. 
Neots,  a  well,  arched  over  with  the  rubes  of  lour 
kinds  of  trees,  withy,  oak,  elm,  and  ash,  dedi- 
cated to  St.  Kejne.  The  reported  virtue  of  the 
water  is  tliis,  that  whether  husband  or  wile 
come  first  to  drink,  thereof,  they  get  the  mas- 
tery thereby. — TAos.  Fuller, 


There   came   a  man  from   the   neigh- 
bouring town 

At  the  well  to  fill  his  pail. 
On  the  well-side  he  rested  it. 

And  bade  the  stranger  hail. 

"  Now  art  thou  a  bachelor,  stranger  ?  '* 
quoth  he, 
"  For  an  if  thou  hast  a  wife. 
The  happiest  draught  thou  hast  drank 
this  day 
That  ever  thou  didst  in  thy  life. 

"  Or  has  your  good  woman,  if  one  you 
have. 
In  Cornwall  ever  been  ? 
For  an  if  she  have,  I'll  venture  mj'  life 
She  has  drank  of  the   well   of  !St. 
Keyne." 

"  /  have  left  a  good  woman  wlio  never 
was  here,^' 
The  stranger  he  made  replj' ; 
*'  But  that  my  drauglU  sliould  be  better 
for  thai, 
I  fray  you  answer  me  why.'" 

**  St.  Keyne,"  quoth  the  countryman, 

"  many  a  time 
Drank  of  this  crystal  well. 
And  before  the  angel  summoned  her 
She  laid  on  the  water  a  spell. 

"  If  the  husband  of  this  gifted  well 
Shall  drink  before  his  wife, 

A  happy  man  thenceforth  is  he. 
For  he  shall  be  master  for  life. 

"  But  if  the  wife  should  drink  of  it  first, 
God  help  the  husband  then  !  " 

The  stranger  stoop'd  to  the  well  of  St. 
Keyne, 
And  drank  of  the  waters  again. 

"  You  drank  of  the  well,   I  warrant, 
betimes  ?  " 
He  to  the  countryman  said  ; 
But   the    countryman   smiled    as    the 
strange  spake, 
And  sheepishly  shook  his  head. 

"  I  hastened  as  soon  as  the  wedding 
was  done. 

And  left  my  wife  in  the  porch. 
But  i'  faith  she  had  been  wiser  than  me. 

For  she  took  a  bottle  to  church." 

Mobert  Southey. 


Ballads 


:i27 


ttrCY  AND   COIilN. 

Of  Leinster  fam'd  for  maidens  fair. 
Bright  Lucy  was  the  grace  ; 

Nor  e'er  did  Lilly's  liraijid  stream 
Reflect  so  fair  a  face. 

Till  hicldess  love,  and  pining  care 

Impair'd  her  rosy  hue. 
Her  coral  lips,  and  damask  clieelc. 

And  eyes  of  glossy  blue. 

(Jli  !   have  you  seen  a  lily  pale, 
VV'hen    beating    rains    descend  ? 

iSo  droop'd  the  slow  consuming  maid. 
Her  life  now  near  its  end. 

By  Lucy  warned,  of  flattering  swains 

Take  heed,  ye  easy  fair ; 
Of  vengeance  due  to  broken  vows. 

Ye  perjured  swains,  beware. 

Three  times,  all  in  the  dead  of  night, 

A  bell  was  heard  to  ring  ; 
And  at  her  window,  shrieking  thrice, 

The  raven  flapp'd  his  wing. 

Too  well  the  love-lorn  maiden  knew 
That   solemn   boding   sound ; 

And  thus,  in  dying  words,  bespoke 
The  virgins  weeping  round. 

"  I  hear  a  voice,  you  cannot  hear. 
Which  says,  I  must  not  stay  : 

I  see  a  hand,  you  cannot  see 
Which  beckons  me  away. 

By  a  false  heart,  and  broken  vows. 

In  early  youth  I  die. 
Am  I  to  blame,  because  his  bride 

Is  thrice  as  rich  as  I  ? 

Ah,  C!olin  !  give  not  her  thy  vows  ; 

Vows  due  to  me  alone  : 
Nor  thou,  fond  maid,  receive  his  kis3. 

Nor  tliink  him  all  thy  own. 

To-morrow  in  the  church  to  wed. 

Impatient,  both  prepare  ; 
But  know  fond  maid,  and  know,  falsi- 
man, 

That  Lucy  will  be  there. 

Tlien  bear  my  corse ;    ye    comrades, 
bear. 
The  bridegroom  blithe  to  meet ; 


He  in  his  wedding-trim  so  gay, 
I  in  my  winding-sheet." 

She   spoke,  she    died  ; — her  corse  was 
borne, 

The  bridegroom  blithe  to  meet ; 
He  in  his  wedding-trim  so  gay, 

She  in  her  winding-sheet. 

Then     what     were     perjured     Colins 
thoughts  ? 
How  were  those  nuptials  kept  ? 
The    bride-men    flock'd    round     Liny 
dead. 
And  all  the  village  wept. 

Confusion,  shame,  remorse,  despair 

At  once  his  bosom  swelt. 
The  damps  of  death  bedew'd  his  brow. 

He  shook,  he  groan'd,  he  fell. 

From  the  vain  bride    (ah,   bride    no 
more  !) 

The  varying  crimson  fled. 
When,  stretch'd  before  her  rival's  corse. 

She  saw  her  husband  dead. 

Then  to  his  Lucy's  new-made  grave, 
Convey'd  by  trembling  swains. 

One  mould  with  her,  beneath  one  sod. 
For  ever  now  remains. 

Oft  at  their  grave  the  constant  iiitid 
And  plighted  maid  are  seen  ; 

With  garlands  gay,  and  true-love  knoU 
They  deck  the  sacred  green. 

But,  swain,  forsworn,  whoe'er  thou  art. 

This  hallow'd  spot  forbsar  ; 
Benieuiber  Colin's  dreadful  fate. 

And  fear  to  meet  him  there. 

Thomas  Ticktll. 


EDWIN  AND  ANGELINA. 

"  TuRX,  gentle  Hermit  of  tlie  ih\le, 
And  guide  my  lonely  way 

To  where  yon  taper  cheers  the  vale 
With  hospitable  ray. 

For  here  forlorn  and  lost  I  tread, 
Witix  fainting  steps  and  slow. 

Where  wilds,  immeasurably  spread. 
Seem  lengthening  as  I  go." 


328 


Poems  for  Children. 


— "  Forbear,  my  son,"  the  Hermit  cries, 
"  To  tempt  the  dangerous  gloom, 

For  yonder  faithless  phantom  tlies 
To  hire  thee  to  thy  doom. 

"  Here  to  the  houseless  child  of  want 

My  door  is  open  still ; 
And  though  my  portion  is  but  scant 

I  give  it  with  goodwill. 

"  Then  turn  to-night,  and  freely  sliare 
Whate'er  my  cell  bestows  ; 

My  rushy  couch  and  frugal  fare. 
My  blessing  and  repose. 

"  No  flocks  that  range  the  valley  free 

To  slaughter  I  condemn  ; 
Taught  by  that  Power  that  pities  me, 

I  learn  to  pity  them  : 

"  But    from     the     mountain's    grassy 

side 

A  guiltless  feast  I  bring  : 
A  scrip  with  herbs  and  fruits  supplied, 

And  water  from  the  spring. 

"  Then,     pilgrim  !      turn ;     thy     cares 
forego  ; 

All  earth-born  cares  are  wrong : 
Man  wants  but  little  here  below, 

Nor  wants  that  little  long." 

Soft  as  the  dew  from  heaven  descends 

His  gentle  accents  fell : 
The  modest  stranger  lowly  bends. 

And  follows  to  the  cell. 

Far  in  the  wilderness  obscure 

The  lonely  mansion  lay, 
A  refuge  to  the  neighbouring  poor. 

And  strangers  led  astraJ^ 

Xo  stores  beneath  its  humble  thatch 

Required  a  master's  care, 
The  wicket,  opening  with  a  latch. 

Received  the  harmless  pair. 

And  now,  when  busy  crowds  retire 

To  take  their  evening  rest, 
The  hermit  trimm'd  his  little  fire. 

And  cheer'd  his  pensive  guest : 

And  spread  his  vegetable  store, 
And  gaily  press'd  and  smiled  ; 


And  skiU'd  in  legendary  lore. 
The  lingering  hours  beguiled. 

Around,  in  sympathetic  mirth. 

Its  tricks  the  kitten  tries  ; 
The  cricket  chirrups  on  the  hearth. 

The   crackling  fagot   flies. 

But  nothing  could  a  charm  impart 
To  soothe  the  stranger's   woe ; 

For  grief  was  heavy  at  his  heart. 
And  tears  began  to  flow. 

His  rising  cares  the  Hermit  spied. 
With  answering  care  oppress\l  : 

And   ''  Whence,    unhappy    youth,'"  he 
cried, 
"  The  sorrows  of  thy  breast  ? 

"  From  better  habitations  spurn'd 

Reluctant  dost  thou  rove  ? 
Or  grieve  for  friendship  umeturn'd. 

Or  unregarded  love  ? 

"  Alas  !  the  joys  that  fortune  brings 

Are  trifling,  and  decaj' ; 
And  those  who  prize  the  paltry  things, 

More  trifling  still  than  they. 

"  And  what  is  friendship  but  a  name, 
A  charm  that  luUs  to  sleep  ; 

A  shade  that  follows  wealth  or  fame, 
But  leaves  the  wretch  to  weep  ? 

"  And  love  is  still  an  emptier  sound. 
The    modern    fair-one's    jest ; 

On  earth  unseen,  or  only  found 
To  warm  the  turtle's  nest. 

"  For  shame,  fond  youth  !   thy  sorrows 
hush  ; 

And  spurn  the  sex,"  he  said  ; 
But  while  he  spoke,  a  rising  blush 

His  love-lorn  guest  betray'd  ! 

Siuprised  he  sees  new  beauties  rise. 

Swift  mantling  to  the  view  ; 
Like  colours  o'er  the  morning  skies. 

As  bright,  as  transient  too. 

The  bashful  look,  the  rising  breast. 

Alternate  spread  alarms  : 
U'he  lovely  stranger  stands  eonfess'd, 

A  maid  in  all  her  charms. 


Ballads. 


?,20 


And  "  Ah  !  forgive  a  stranger  mule, — 
A  wrett-h  forlorn,"  she  cried  ; 

"  Wiiose  feet,  uuhallow'd,  thus  intrude 
Where  Heaven  and  you  reside  ! 

"  But  let  a  maid  thy  pity  share, 
Whom  love  has  taught  to  stray  ; 

Wlio  seeks  for  rest,  but  finds  despair 
Companion  of  her  way. 

"  My  father  lived  beside  the  Tyne, 

A  wealthy  lord  was  he  ; 
4nd  all  his  wealth  was  mark'd  as  mine, 

He  had  but  only  me. 

"  To  win  me  from  his  tender  arms 

Unnumber'd  suitors  came. 
Who  praised  nie  for  imputed  charms, 

And  felt  or  feign'd  a  tlame. 

"  Each  hour  a  mercenary  crowd 
With  richest  proffers  strove  : 

Amongst  the  I'est,  young  Edwin  bow'd, 
But  never  talk'd  of  love. 

'"  In  humble,  simple  habit  clad. 
No  wealth,  nor  power  had  he  : 

Wisdom  and  worth  were  all  he  had. 
But  these  were  all  to  me. 

"  And  when,  b&side  me  in  the  dale. 

He  caroll'd  laj's  of  love. 
His  breath  lent  fragrance  to  the  gale, 

And  music  to  the  grove. 

"  The  blossom  opening  to  the  day. 
The  dews  of  heaven  refined, 

Could  nought  of  purity  display 
To  emulate  his  mind. 


'■  But    mine    the     sorrow,    mine    the 
fault  ! 

And  well  my  life  shall  2)ay  ; 
I'll  seek  the  solitude  lie  sought. 

And  stretch  me  where  he  laj'. 

"  And  there,  forlorn,  despairing,  hid, 

I'll  lay  me  down  and  die  ; 
'Twas  so  for  me  that  Edwin  did. 

And  so  for  him  will  I." 

■^'  Forbid  it,  Heaven  !  "  the  Hermit 
cried. 
And  clasp'd  her  to  his  breast : 
The    wondering    fair    one    turn'd     to 
chide — 
'Twas  Edwin's  self  that  press'd  I 

"  Turn,  Angelina,  ever  dear. 

My  charmer,  turn  to  see 
Thy  own,  thy  long-lost  Edwin  here. 

Restored  to  love  and  thee. 


"  Thus  let  me  hold  thee  to  my  heart. 

And  every  care  resign  : 
And  shall  we  never,  never  part. 

My  life — my  all  that's  mine  ? 

"  No,  never  from  this  hour  to  part. 
We'll  live  and  love  so  true  : 

The    sigh    that     rends     thy    constant 
heart 
(Shall   break  thy  Edwin's  too." 

Oliver   Golds  in  ith. 


"  The  dew,  the  blossom  on  the  tree. 
With  charms  inconstant  shine  : 

Their  charms  were  his  ;  but,  woe  to  me  ! 
Their  constancy  was  mine. 

"  For  still  I  tried  each  fickle  art, 

Importunate  and  vain  ; 
And.  while  his  passion  touch' il  my  heai  t. 

I  triumph'd  in  his  pain  : 


THE   BAILIFF'S  DAUGHTER   OF 
ISLINGTON. 

There   was   a    youth,    a    well-beloveJ 
youth. 

And  he  was  a  squire's  son, 
He  loved  the  bayliffe's  daughter  dear. 

That  lived  in  Islington. 


"  Till,  quite  dejected  with  my  scorn. 
He  left  me  to  my  pride  ; 

An<l   sought  a  solitude  forlorn. 
In  secret,  where  he  died. 


Yet  she  was  coy  and  would  not  believe 

That  he  did  love  her  so, 
Iso  nor  at  any  time  would  she 

Any  countenance  to  him  show. 


330 


Poems  for  Children. 


But  when  his  friends  did  understand 

His  fond  and  foolish  mind. 
They  sent  liini  up  to  faire  London 

An  apprentice  for  to  bind. 

And   when    he    had    been   seven  long 
years, 

And  never  his  love  could  see : 
Many  a  tear  have  I  shed  for  her  sake. 

When  she  little  thought  of  me. 

Then  all  the  maids  of  Islington 
Went  forth  to  sport  and  play. 

All  but  the  bayliffe's  daughter  dear; 
She  secretly  stole  away. 

She  pulled  off  her  gown  of  green. 

And  put  on  ragged  attire. 
And  to  faire  London  she  would  go 

Her  true  love  to  enquire. 

And  as  she  went  along  the  high  road, 
The  weather  being  hot  and  dry. 

She  sat  her  down  upon  a  green  bank, 
And  her  true  love  came  riding  bye. 

She  started  up,  with  a  colour  so  redd. 

Catching  hold  of  his  bridle-reine ; 
One  penny,    one   penny,  kind   sir,   she 


Will  ease  me  of  much  pain. 


sweet- 


Before  I  give  you  one  penny, 
heart. 

Pray  tell  me  where  you  were  born. 
At  Islington,  kind  sir,  said  she, 

Where  I  have  had  many  a  scorn. 

I  prythe,  sweet-heart,  then  tell  to  me, 
O  tell  me,  whether  you  know, 

The  bayliffe's  daughter  of  Islington. 
She  is  dead,  sir,  long  ago. 


O  farewell  grief,  and  welcome  joy, 

Ten  thousand  times  thorefore ; 
For   now  I  have  found  mine  own  true 
love, 
Whom  I  thought  I  should  never  see 
more. 


AliLAN  WATER. 

On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water, 
When  the  sweet  spring  time  did  fall. 
Was  the  miller's  lovely  daughter. 
Fairest  of  them  all. 

For  his  bride  a  soldier  sought  her. 
And  a  winning  tongue  had  he. 
On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water, 
None  so  gay  as  she. 

On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water, 
When  brown  autumn  spread  his  store, 
There  I  saw  the  miller's  daughter. 
But  she  smiled  no  more. 

For  the  summer  grief  had  brought  her. 
And  the  soldier  false  was  he. 
On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water, 
None  so  sad  as  she. 

On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water, 
When  the  winter  snow  fell  fast. 
Still  was  seen  the  miller's  daughter. 
Chilling  blew  the  blast. 

But  the  miller's  lovely  dau  rhter. 
Both  from  cold  and  care  was  free, 
On  the  banks  of  Allan  Water, 
There  a  corse  lay  she 


Matthew  Gregory  Lewis. 


If  she  be  dead,  then  take  my  hoi-se. 
My  saddle  and  bridle  also ; 

For  I  will  unto  some  far  country. 
Where  no  man  shall  me  know. 

0  stay,  O  stay,  thou  goodly  youth, 
She  standeth  by  thy  side  ; 

She  is  here  aUve,  she  is  not  dcail. 
And  ready  to  be  thy  bride. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE 

SWAN'S  NEST. 

Little  EUie  sits  alone 
'Mid  the  beeches  of  a  meadow. 
By  a  stream-side  on  the  grass  ; 
And  the  trees  are  showering  down 
Doubles  of  their  leaves  in  sha'iow 
On  (he  shining  hair  and  face. 


Ballads. 


331 


Slie  has  thrown  her  bonnet  by  ; 
And  her  feet  she  has  been  dipping 
In  the  shallow  waters'   flow — 
Now  she  holds  them  nakedly 
In  her  hands,  all  sleek  antl  tlrlpping. 
While  she  rocketh  to  and  fro. 

Little   Ellie   sits   alone, 
And  the  smiles  she  softly  useth 
Fills  the  silence  like  a  spcocli  : 
While  she  thinks  what  shall  be  done. 
And  the  sweetest  pleasure  cliooseth 
For  her  future,  within  reach. 

Little  Ellie  in  her  smile 
Chooseth — "  I  will  have  a  lover 
Riding  on  a  steed  of  steeds  ! 
He  shall  love  me  without  guile  ; 
And  to  him  1  will  discover 
That  swan's  nest  among  the  reeds. 

"  And  the  steed  it  shall  be  red -roan. 
And  the  lover  shall  be  noble. 
With  an  eye  that  takes  the  breatli ; 
And  the  lute  he  plays  upon 
Shall  strike  ladies  into  trouble. 
As  his  sword  strikes  men  to  death. 

*'  And  the  steed  it  shall  be  shod 

All  in  silver,  housed  in  azure, 

And  the  mane  shall  swim  the  wind. 

And  the  hoofs  along  the  sod 

Shall  flash  onward  and  keep  measure. 

Till  the  shepherds  look  behind. 

"  He  will  kiss  me  on  the  mouth 
Then,  and  lead  me  as  a  lover 
Through   the   crowds   that  praise   his 

deeds  ; 
And,  when  soul  tied  by  one  troth. 
Unto  hi7n  I  will  discover 
That  swan's  nest  among  the  reeds." 

Little  EUie,  with  her  smile 
Not  yet  ended,  rose  up  gaily — ■ 
Tied  the  bonnet,  dorm'd  the  shoe. 
And  went  homeward  round  a  mile. 
Just  to  see,  £is  she  did  daily. 
What  more  eggs  were  with  the  two. 

Pushing  through  the  elm-tree  copse, 
Winding  by  the  stream,  Ught-hearted, 
TSTiere  the  osier  pathway  leads — 
Past  the  boughs  she  stoops  and  stops : 
So  !    the  wild  swan  has  deserted. 
And  a  rat  had  gnaw'd  the  reeds. 


JOilio  went  home  sad  and  slow. 
If  she  found  the  lover  over. 
With  his  red-roan  steed  of  steeds. 
Sooth  I  know  not !    but  I  know 
She  could  never  show  him — never — 
That  swan's  nest  among  the  reeds. 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Brownimj. 


THE  TRTJE  AND  THE  FALSE. 

Where  shall  the  lover  rest 

Whom  the  fates  sever 
From  his  true  maiden's  breast 

Parted    for    ever  ? 

Where,  through  groves  deep  and  high 

Sounds  the  far  billow. 
Where  early  violets  die 

Under  the  willow  : — > 
Eleu  loro 

Soft  sJuUl  be  his  pillow. 

Thire,  through  the  summer  day 

Cool  streams  are  laving  : 
There,  while  the  tempests  sway. 

Scarce  are  boughs  waving  ; 
There  ihy  rest  shalt  thou  take. 

Parted  for  ever. 
Never  again  to  wake 

Never,  O  never  1 
Eleu  loro 

Never,  0  never  t, 

— Where  shall  the  traitor  rest. 

He,  the  deceiver. 
Who  could  win  maiden's  breast. 

Ruin,  and  leave  her  ? 
In  the  lost  battle. 

Borne  do^vn  by  the  flj'ing. 
Where  mingles  war's  rattle 

With  groans  of  the  dying  ; 
Eleu  loro 

There  shall  he  he  lying. 

Her  mng  shall  the  eagle  flap 

O'er  the  falsehearted  ; 
His  warm  blood  the  wolf  shall  lap 

Ere  hfe  be  parted  : 
Shame  and  dishonour  sit 

By  his  grave  ever  ; 
Blessing  shall  hallow  it 

Never,  0  never ! 
Eleu  loro 

Never,  O  never  I 

i>ir  Walter  Scott, 


832 


Poems   for  Children. 


THE  DEEAM  OF  EUGENE 
ARAM. 

'TwAS  in  the  prime  of  summer  time. 

An  evening  calm  and  cool. 
And  four-and-twenty  happy  boys 

Came  bounding  out  of  school : 
There  were  some  that  ran,  and  some 
that  leapt. 

Like  trout  lets  in  a  pool. 

Away  they  sped  with  gamesome  minds. 
And  souls  untouched  by  sin  ; 

To  a  level  mead  they  came,  and  there 
They  drave  the  vi'ickets  in  : 

Pleasantly  shone  the  setting  sun 
Over  the  town  of  Lynn. 

Like  sportive  deer  they  coursed  about, 
And  shouted  as  they  ran — 

Turning  to  mirth  all  things  of  earth, 
As  only  boyhood  can  : 

But  the  usher  sat  remote  from  all, 
A  melancholy  man  ! 

His  hat  was  off,  his  vest  apart. 
To  catch  heaven's  blessed  breeze  ; 

For  a  burning  thought  was  in  his  brow, 
And  his  bosom  ill  at  ease  : 

So  he  leaned  his  head  on  his  hands,  and 
read 
The  book  between  his  knees  ! 

Leaf  after  leaf  he  turned  it  o'er. 

Nor  ever  glanced  aside  ; 
For  the  peace  of  his  soul  he  read  that 
book 

In  the  golden  eventide  : 
Much  study  had  made  him  very  lean. 

And  pale,  and  leaden-eyed. 

At  last  he  shut  the  ponderous  tome  ; 

With  a  fast  and  fervent  grasp 
He  strained  the  dusky  covers  close. 

And  fixed  the  brazen  hasp  : 
"  O  God,  could  I  so  close  my  mind. 

And  clasp  it  with  a  clasp  !  " 

Then  leaping  on  his  feet  upright. 
Some  moody  turns  he  took  ; 

Now  up  the  mead,  then  down  the  mead. 
And  past  a  shady  nook  : 

And  lo  !    he  saw  a  little  boy 
That  pored  upon  a  book  ! 

*'  My  gentle  lad,  what  is't  you  read — 
Komance  or  fairy  fable  Y 


Or  is  it  some  historic  page. 

Of  kings  and  crowns  unstable  ?  " 
The  young  boy  gave  an  upward  glance — 

"  It  is  the  death  of  Abel." 

The  usher  took  six  hasty  strides, 

As  smit  with  sudden  pain  ; 
Six  hasty  strides  beyond  the  place. 

Then  slowly  back  again  : 
And  down  he  sat  beside  the  lad. 

And  talked  with  him  of  Cain  ; 

And,  long  since  then,  of  bloody  men. 
Whose  deeds  tradition  saves  ; 

Of  lonely  folk  cut  off  imseen. 
And  hid  in  sudden  graves  ; 

Of  horrid  stabs,  in  groves  forlorn. 
And  murders  done  in  caves  ; 

And  how  the  sprites  of  injured  men 
Shi'iek  upward  from  the  sod — 

Ay,  how  the  ghostly  hand  will  point 
To  show  the  burial  clod  ; 

And  unknown  facts  of  guilty  acts 
Are  seen  in  dreams  from  God  ! 

He  told  how  murderers   walked   tho 
earth 

Beneath  the  curse  of  Cain — 
With  crimson  clouds  before  their  eyes, 

And  flames  about  their  brain  : 
For  blood  has  left  upon  their  souls 

Its  everlasting  stain  ! 

"  And  well,"  quoth  he,  "  I  know,  for 
truth, 
Their  pangs  must  be  extreme — 
Woe,   woe,   unutterable  woe — 

Who  spill  life's  sacred  stream  ! 
For    why  ?     Methought    last    night    I 
wrought 
A  murder  in  a  dream  ! 

"  One  that  had  never  done  me  wrong — 

A  feeble  man,  and  old  ; 
I  led  him  to  a  lonely  field, 

The  moon  shone  clear  and  cold  : 
Now  here,  said  I,  this  man  shall  die. 

And  I  will  have  his  gold  ! 

*'  Two    sudden    blows    with    a    ragged 
stick. 

And  one  with  a  heavy  stona, 
One  hurried  gash  with  a  hasty  knife— 

And  then  the  deed  was  done  : 
There  was  nothing  lying  at  my  foot. 

But  lifeless  flesh  and  bone  I 


Ballads. 


?,:v,i 


"  Nothing  but  lifeless  flesh  and  bone. 

That  could  not  do  me  ill ; 
And  \et  I  feared  him  all  the  more, 

For  lying  there  so  still : 
There  was  a  manhood  in  his  look. 

That  murder  could  not  kill  1 

"  And  lo  !  the  universal  air 

Seemed  lit  with  ghastly  flame — 

Ten  thousand  thousand  dreadful  eyes 
Were  looking  down  in  blame  : 

I  took  the  dead  man  by  the  hand, 
And  called  upon  his  name ; 

"  Oh,  God  !  it  made  me  quake  to  see 
Such  sense  within  the  slain  ! 

But  when  I  touched  the  lifeless  clay, 
The  blood  gushed  out  amain  ! 

For  every  clot,   a   burning  spot 
Was  scorching  in  my  bi'ain  ! 

"  My  head  was  like  an  ardent  coal. 

My  heart  as  solid  ice  ; 
My  wretched,  •wTetched  soul,  I  knew. 

Was  at  the  devil's  price  : 
A  dozen  times  I  groaned,  the  dead 

Had  never  groaned  but  twice  ; 

"  And  now  from  forth  the  frowning  sky, 
From  the  heaven's  topmost  height, 

I  heard  a  voice— the  awful  voice. 
Of  the  blood-avenging  Sprite  : 

'  Thou  guilty  man  !    take  up  thj'  dead, 
And  hide  it  from  my  sight.' 

"  I  took  the  dreary  body  up. 

And  cast  it  in  a  stream — 
A  sluggish  water  black  as  ink. 

The  depth  was  so  extreme. 
My  gentle  boy,  remember  this 

Is  nothing  but  a  dream  ! 

"  Down  went  the  corpse  with  a  hollow 
plunge. 

And  vanished  in  the  pool ; 
Anon  I  cleansed  my  bloody  hands. 

And  washed  my  forehead  cool. 
And  sat  among  the  urchins  young 

That  evening  in  the  school ! 

"  Oh  Heaven  !    to  think  of  their  wliite 
souls. 
And  mine  so  black  and  grim  ! 
I  could  not  share  in  childish  prayer, 

Xor  join  in  evening  hymn  : 
Like  a  devil  of  the  pit  I  seemed, 
-Mid  holy  cherubim  ! 


"  And  peace  went  with  them  one  and 
all, 

And  each  calm  pillow  spread  ; 
But  Guilt  was  my  grim  chaml)erlain 

That  lighted  me  to  bed. 
And  drew  my  midnight  curtains  round. 

With  lingers  bloody  red  ! 

"  All  night  I  lay  in  agony. 
In  anguish  dark  and  deep  ; 

My  fevered  eyes  I  dare  not  close. 
But  stared  aghast  at  sleep  ; 

For  sin  had  rendered  luito  her 
The  keys  of  hell  to  keep  ! 

"  All  night  I  lay  in  agony. 

From  weary  chime  to  chime. 
With  one  besetting  horrid  hint. 

That  racked  me  all  the  time — 
A  mighty  yearning,  like  the  first 

Fierce  impulse  unto  crime  ! 

"  One    stern,    tyi'annic    thought,    that 
made 

All  other  thoughts  its  slave  ; 
Stronger  and  stronger  every  pulse 

Did  that  temptation  crave — 
Still  urging  me  to  go  and  see 

The  dead  man  in  his  grave  ! 

"  Heavily  I  rose  up — as  soon 

As  light  was  in  the  sky — 
And  sought  the  black  accursed  pool 

With  a  wild  misgiving  e\'e  ; 
And  I  saw  tli:"  dead  in  the  river  bed. 

For  the  faithless  stream  was  dry  I 

"  Merrily  rose  the  lark,  and  shook 
The  dewdrop  from  its  wing  ; 

But  I  never  marked  its  morning  flight, 
I  never  heard  it  sing  : 

For  I  was  stooping  once  again 
Under  the  horrid  thing. 

"  With    breathless   speed,   like   a   soul 
in  chase, 
I  took  him  up  and  ran — 
There  was  no  time  to  dig  a  grave 

Before  the  day  began  ; 
In   a   lonesome   wood,   with   heaps   of 
leaves, 
I  hid  the  murdered  man ; 

'■  And  all  that  day  I  read  in  school. 
But  nu'  thought  was  other-where  ! 

As  soon  as  the  midday  tasl;  was  done, 
In  secret  I  was  there 


334 


Poems   for  Children. 


And    a   mighty   wind   had   swept    the 
leaves, 
And  still  the  corse  was  bare  ! 

"  Then  down  I  cast  me  on  my  face. 

And  first  began  to  weep, 
For  I  knew  my  secret  then  was  one 

That  earth  refused  to  keep  ; 
Or  land  or  sea,  though  he  should  be 

Ten  thousand  fathoms  deep  ! 

"  So  wills  the  fierce  avenging  Sprite, 
Till  blood  for  blood  atones  ! 

Ay,  though  he's  buried  in  a  cave. 
And  trodden  down  with  stones. 

And  years  have  rotted  off  his  flesh — 
The  world  shall  see  his  bones  ! 

"  Oh,  God,  that  horrid,  horrid  dream 

Besets  me  now  awake  ! 
Again — again,  with  a  dizzy  brain 

The  human  life  I  take ; 
And  my  red  right  hand  grows  raging  hot, 

Like  Cranmer's  at  the  stake. 

"  And  still  no  peace  for  the  restless  clay, 

Will  wave  or  mould  allow. 
The  horrid  thing  pursues  my  soul — 

It  stands  before  me  now  !  " 
The  fearful  boy  looked  up,  and  saw 

Huge  drops  upon  his  brow  ! 

That  very  night,  while  gentle  sleep 
The    urchin's    eyelids    kissed. 

Two  stern-faced  men  set  out  from  Lynn, 
Through  the  cold  and  heavy  mist ; 

And  Eugene  Aram  walked  between 
With  gyves  upon  his  wrists. 

Thomas  Hood. 


SWEET  WILLIAM'S  GHOST. 

There  came  a  ghost  to  Margaret's  door, 
With  many  a  grievous  groan, 

And  aye  he  tirled  at  the  pin. 
But  answer  she  made  none. 

"  Is  that  my  father  Philip, 

Or  is't  my  brother  John  ? 
Or  is't  my  true  love  Willy, 

Fiom  Scotland  new  come  home  ?  " 

"  'Tis  not  thy  father  Philip, 
Nor  yet  thy  brother  John  : 

But  'tis  thy  true  love  Willy, 
From  Scotland  new  come  home. 


"  O  sweet  Margaret,  0  dear  Margaret, 

I  pray  thee  speak  to  me  : 
Give  me  my  faith  and  troth,  Margaret, 

As  I  gave  it  to  thee." 

"  Thy  faith  and  troth  thou'lt  never  get, 

Of  me  shalt  never  win. 
Till  that  thou  come  within  my  bower 

And  kiss  my  cheek  and  chin." 

"  If  I  should  come  within  thy  bower, 

I  am  no  earthly  man  : 
And  should  I  kiss  thy  rosy  lips 

Thy  days  would  not  be  lang. 

"  O  sweet  Margaret,  O  dear  Margaret, 

I  pray  thee  speak  to  me  : 
Give  me  my  faith  and  troth,  Margaret, 

As  I  gave  it  to  thee." 

"  Thy  faith  and  troth  thou'lt  never  get, 

Of  me  shalt  never  win. 
Till  yoii  take  me  to  yon  kirk-yard. 

And  wed  me  Avith  a  ring." 

"  My  bones  are  buried  in  yon  kirk-\'ard 

Afar  beyond  the  sea. 
And  it  is  but  my  spirit,  Margaret, 

That's  now  speaking  to  thee." 

She  stretched  out  her  lily-white  hand, 

And  for  to  do  her  best : 
"  Have    there    your    faith    and    troth, 
Willy, 

God  send  your  soul  good  rest." 

Now  she  has  kilted  her  robes  of  green 

A  piece  below  her  knee, 
And  all  the  live-long  winter  night 

The  dead  corpse  followed  she. 

"  Is  there  any  room  at  your  head,  Willy, 

Or  any  room  at  your  feet  ? 
Or  any  room  at  your  side,  Willy, 

Wherein  that  I  may  creep  ?  " 

*'  There's     no     room     at     my      head, 
Margaret, 

There's  no  room  at  my  feet ; 
There's  no  room  at  my  side,  Margaret, 

My  coffin's  made  so  meet." 

Then  up  and  crew  the  red  red  cock. 
And  up  then  crew  the  grej' ; 

'Tis  time,  'tis  time,  my  dear  Margaret, 
That  you  were  going  away. 


Ballads. 


S35 


THE   MAID   OF   NEIDPATH. 

Earl  March  look'd  on  his  dying  child, 
And  smit  with  grief  to  view  lier — 

The  youth,  he  cried,  whom  I  exiled 
Shall  be  restored  to  woo  her. 

She's  at  the  window  many  an  hour 

His  coming  to  discover  : 
And  he  look'd  up  to  Ellen's  bower 

And  she  look'd  on  her  lover — 

But  ah  !  so  pale,  he  knew  her  not, 
Though  her  smile  on  him  was  dwell- 
ing— 

And  am  I  then  forgot — forgot  ? 
It  broke  the  heart  of  Ellen. 

In  vain  he  weeps,  in  vain  he  sighs. 

Her  cheek  is  cold  as  ashes  ; 
Nor  love's  own  kiss  shall  wake   those 
eyes 

To  hft  their  silken  lashes. 

Tkomcis  CampheU. 


ALICE  FELL. 

TirE  post-boy  drove  with  fierce  career. 

For  threatening  clouds  the  moon  had 
drowned  : 
When,  as  we  hurried  on,  my  ear 

Was  smitten  with  a  startling  sound. 

As  if  the  wind  blew  many  ways, 

I  heard  the  sound, — and  more  and 
more  ; 

It  seemed  to  follow  with  the  chaise. 
And  still  I  heard  it  as  before. 

At  length  I  to  the  boy  called  out ; 

He  stopped  his  horses  at  the  word  ; 
But  neither  cry,  nor  voice,  nor  shout, 

Nor  aught  else  like  it,  coukl  be  heard. 

The  boy  then  smacked  his  whip,  and  fast 
The   horses  scampered   through   the 
rain  ; 

And  soon  I  heard  upon  the  blast 
The  cry,  I  bade  him  halt  again. 

Forthwith,  alighting  on  the  ground, 
■"  Whence    comes,"    said    I,     "this 
piteous  moan  ?  " 


And  there  a  little  Girl  I  found. 
Sitting  behind  the  chaise,  alone. 

"  My  cloak  !  "  no  other  word  she  spake. 
But  loud  and  bitterly  she  wept, 

As  if  her  innocent  heart  would  break  ; 
And  do%\Ti  from  off  her  seat  she  leapt. 

"  What  ails  you,  child  ?  " — she  sobbed, 
"  Look  here  !  " 

I  saw  it  in  the  Avheel  entangled, 
A  weather-beaten  rag  as  e'er 

From  any  garden  scarecrow  dangled. 

'Twas  twisted  between  nave  and  spoke  : 
It  hung,  nor  could  at  once  be  freed. 

But  our  joint  palms  unloosed  the  cloak, 
A  miserable  rag  indeed  ! 

"  And  whither  are  you  goinjr,  child. 
To-night     along      these      lonesome 
ways  ?  " 
"  To    Durham,"    answered    she,    half 
wild — 
*'  'i'hen    come    with    me    into     the 
chaise." 

She  sat  like  one  past  all  rehef ; 

Sob  after  sob  she  forth  did  send 
In  wretchedness,  as  if  her  grief 

Could  never,  never  have  an  end. 

"  My  child,  in  Dm-ham  do  you  dwell  ?  " 
She  checked  herself  in  her  distress. 

And  said,  "  My  name  is  Alice  Fell ; 
I'm  fatherless  and  motherless. 

"  And  I  to  Durham,  sir,  belong :  " 
Again,  as  if  the  thought  would  choke 

Her  very  heart,  her  grief  grew  strong  : 
And  all  was  for  her  tattered  cloak  ! 

The  chaise  drove  on,  our  journey's  end 
Was  nigh  ;    and  sitting  by  my  side, 

As  if  she  had  lost  her  only  friend. 
She  wept,  nor  would  be  pacified. 

Up  to  the  tavern-door  we  post 
Of  Ahce  and  her  grief  I  told, 

And  I  gave  money  to  the  host, 
To  buy  a  new  cloak  for  the  old. 

"  And  let  it  be  of  dufiil  gray. 

As  warm  a  cloak  as  man  can  sell  !  " 
Proud  creature  was  she  the  next  day. 

The  httle  orphan,  Alice  Fell  ! 

William  Wordsworth, 


336 


Poems   for  Children. 


LHCY  GRAY; 

OR,    SOLITUDE. 

Oft  I  had  heard  of  Lucy  Gray ; 

And,  when  I  crossed  the  wild, 
I  chanced  to  see  at  break  of  day. 

The  sohtary  child. 

No  mate,  no  comrade  Lucy  knew : 
She  dwelt  on  a  wide  moor, — 

Tlie  sweetest  thing  that  ever  grew 
Beside  a  human  door  ! 

You  yet  may  spy  the  fawn  at  play. 

The  hare  upon  the  green  ; 
But  the  sweet  face  of  Lucy  Gray 

Will  never  more  be  seen. 

"  To-night  will  be  a  stormy  night — 
You  to  the  town  must  go  ; 

And  take  a  lantern,  Child,  to  light 
Your  mother  through  the  snow." 

"  That,  Father  !  will  I  gladly  do  : 

'Tis  scarcely  afternoon — 
The  minster-clock  has  just  struck  two. 

And  yonder  is  the  moon  !  " 

At  this  the  Father  raised  his  liook. 
And  snapped  a  faggot  band  : 

He  plied  his  work  ; — and  Lucy  took 
The  lantern  in  her  hand. 

Not  blither  is  the  mountain  roe  ; 

With  many  a  wanton  stroke 
Her  feet  disperse  the  powdery  snow, 

That  rises  up  like  smoke. 

The  storm  came  on  before  its  time : 
She  wandered  up  and  down  ; 

And  many  a  hill  did  Lucy  climb : 
But  never  reached  the  town. 

The  wretched  parents  all  that  night 
Went  shouting  far  and  wide  ; 

But  there  was  neither  sound  nor  sight 
To  serve  them  for  a  guide. 

At  daybreak  on  a  hill  they  stood 
That  overlooked  the  moor  : 

And  thence  they  saw  the  bridge  of  wood 
A  furlong  from  their  door. 

They   wept — and,   turning   homeward, 
cried, 

"  In  heaven  we  all  shall  meet ;  " 
When  in  the  snow  the  mother  spied 

The  print  of  Lucy's  feet. 


Half  breathless   from   the  steep  hill's 
edge 
They  tracked  the  footmarks  small  ; 
And    through    the    broken    hawthorn 
hedge. 
And  by  the  long  stone  wall. 

And  then  an  open  field  they  crossed  ; 

The  marks  were  still  the  same  ; 
They  tracked  them  on,  nor  ever  lost ; 

And  to  the  bridge  they  came. 

They  followed  from  the  snowy  bank 
Those  footmarks,  one  by  one. 

Into  the  middle  of  the  plank  ; 
And  farther  there  were  none  ! — 

Yet  some  maintain  that  to  this  day 

She  is  a  Uving  child  : 
That  you  may  see  sweet  Lucy  Gray 

Upon  the  lonesome  wild. 

O'er  rough  and  smooth  she  trips  along. 

And  never  looks  behind  ; 
And  sings  a  solitary  song 

That  whistles  in  the  wind. 

William  Wordsworth. 


THE  SEVEN  SISTERS,  OR  THE 
SOLITUDE  OF  BINNORIE. 

Sevek  daughters  had  Lord  Archibald, 

All  children  of  one  mother  : 

You  could  not  say  in  one  short  day 

What  love  they  bore  each  other. 

A  garland,  of  seven  hiies  WTOught ! 

Seven  sisters  that  together  dwell : 

But  he,  bold  knight  as  ever  fought. 

Their  father  took  of  them  no  thought. 

He  loved  the  wars  so  well. 

Sing  mournfully,  oh  !  mournfully. 

The  solitude  of  Binnorie  ! 

Fresh  blows  the  wind,  a  western  Mind, 

And  from  the  shores  of  Erin, 

Across  the  wave,  a  rover  brave 

To  Binnorie  is  steering  : 

Right  onward  to  the  Scottish  strand 

The  gallant  ship  is  borne ; 

The  warriors  leap  upon  the  land. 

And  hark !  the  leader  of  the  band 

Hath  blown  his  bugle  horn. 

Sing  mournfully,  oh  !  mournfully. 

The  solitude  of  Binnorie  I 


Ballads. 


33: 


Beside  a  grotto  of  their  own, 

With  boughs  above  thom  closing, 

The  seven  are  laid,  and  in  the  sliade 

They  lie  like  fawns  reposing. 

But  now  upstarting  with  affright 

At  noise  of  man  and  steed. 

Away  they  fly,  to  left,  to  right — 

Of  your  fair  household,  father-knight, 

;Methinlc3  you  take  small  heed  ! 

Sing  mournfully,  oh  !  mournfully, 

The  solitude  of  Binnorie  ! 

Away  the  seven  fair  Campbells  fly ; 

And,  over  liill  and  hollow. 

With  menace  proud,  and  insult  loud. 

The  youthful  rovers  follow. 

Cried  they,  "  Your  father  loves  to  roam  : 

Enough  for  him  to  find 

The  empty  house  when  he  comes  liome  ; 

For  ns  your  yellow  ringlets  como. 

For  us  be  fair  and  kind  !  " 

Sing  mournfully,  oh  !  mournfully. 

The  solitude  of  Binnorie  { 

Some  close  behind,  some  side  by  side. 

Like  clouds  in  stormy  weatlier, 

Tiiey  run  and  cry,  "  Nay  let  us  die. 

And  let  us  die  together." 

A  lake  was  near  ;   the  shore  was  steep  ; 

There  foot  had  never  been  ; 

They  ran,  and  with  a  desperate  leap 

Together  pi  unged  into  the  deep. 

Nor  ever  more  were  seen. 

Sing  mournfully,  oh  !  mournfully. 

The  solitude  of  Binnorie  ! 

The  stream  that  flows  out  of  the  lake. 
As  through  the  glen  it  rambles. 
Repeats  a  moan  o'er  moss  and  stone 
For  those  seven  lovely  Campbells. 
Seven  little  islands,  green  and  bare, 
Have  risen  from  out  the  deep  : 
The  fishers  say  those  sisters  fair 
By  fairies  are  all  buried  there, 
And  there  together  sleep. 
Sing  mournfully,  oh  :  mournfully. 
The  solitude  of  Binnorie  ! 

William  Wordsworth. 


For  there's  nae  luck  about  the  liouse, 

Tliere's  nae  luck  at  a' ; 
Tliere's  nae  luck  about  the  house. 

When  our  gudeman's  awa'. 

Is  this  a  time  to  think  of  wark, 
When  Colin's  at  the  door  ? 

lleacli  down  my  cloak — I'll  to  tiie  quay. 
And  see  him  come  ashore. 

Rise  up,  and  make  a  clean  fireside. 

Put  on  the  mickle  pot ; 
Gie  little  Kate  her  cotton  gown. 

And  Jock  his  Sunday  coat. 

Mak'  a'  their  shoon  as  black  as  slaes, 
Tiieir  stocking  white  as  snaw  ; 

It's  a'  to  pleasure  our  gudeman — 
He  likes  to  see  them  braw. 

There  are  twa  hens  into  the  crib, 
Hae  fed  this  month  or  mair ; 

Slak'  haste  and  thraw  their  necks  about, 
That  Colin  weel  may  fare. 

Bring  down  to  me  my  bigonet, 

My  bishop's  sattin  gown, 
For  I  maun  tell  tlie  bailie's  wife 

That  Colin's  come  to  town. 

My  turkey  slippers  I'll  put  on. 

My  stockins  pearly  blue — 
It's  a'  to  pleasure  our  gudeman. 

For  he's  baith  leal  and  tiue. 

Sae  sweet  his   voice,   sae  smootli   his 
tongue, 

His  breath's  like  caller  air ; 
His  very  fit  hae  music  in't. 

As  he  comes  up  the  stair. 

An<l  will  I  see  his  face  again  ? 

And  will  I  hear  him  speak  ? 
I'm  downriglit  dizzy  wi'  the  tliought, 

Jn  troth  I'm  like  to  greet.* 

William  Jiiliufi  MicLIe. 


THERE'S  NAE  LUCK  ABOUT 
THE  HOUSE. 

Ri'T  are  ye  sure  the  news  is  true  ? 

And  are  ye  sure  he's  weel  ? 
[■<  this  a  time  to  think  o'  wark  ? 

Ve  jades,  fiing  by  your  wheel  ! 


JOCK   OF   HAZEIiDEAN. 

"  Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide,  ladle  ? 

Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide  '! 
I'll  wed  ye  to  my  youngest  son, 

And  ye  sail  be  his  bride  : 


•  "  Uiwt '"— \veo|i. 


22 


338 


Poems  for  Children. 


And  ye  sail  be  his  bride,  ladie, 
Sae  comely  to  be  seen  " — 

But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 
For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

"  Now  let  this  wilfu'  grief  be  done, 

And  dry  that  cheek  so  pale  ; 
Young  Frank  is  chief  of  Errington, 

And  lord  of  Langley-Hale  ; 
His  step  is  first  in  peaceful  ha', 

His  sword  in  battle  keen  " — 
But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

"  A  chain  of  gold  ye  sail  not  lack, 

Nor  braid  to  bind  your  hair ; 
Nor  mettled  hound,  nor  managed  haA\  k, 

Nor  palfrey  fresh  and  fair ; 
And  you,  the  foremost  of  them  a' 

Sliall  ride  our  forest  queen  " — 
But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

The  kirk  was  deck'd  at  morning-tide, 

The  tapers  glimmer'd  fail' ; 
The  priest  and   bridegroom  wait  the 
bride. 

And  dame  and  knight  are  there. 
Tliey  sought  her  baith  by  bower  and  ha' 

The  ladie  was  not  seen  ! 
She's  o'er  the  Border,  and  awa' 

Wi'  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 


THE  LAMENT  OF  THE 
BOBDER  WIDOW. 

My  love  he  built  me  a  bonnie  bower, 
And  clad  it  all  with  lily  flower  ; 
A  braver  bower  you  ne'er  did  see, 
Tlian  my  true  love  he  built  for  me. 

There  came  a  man  by  middle  day. 
He  spied  his  sport  and  went  his  way. 
And  brought  the  king  that  very  night 
Wlio   broke   my  bower  and  slew   my 
knight. 

He  slew  my  knight  to  me  so  dear  ; 
He  slew  my  knight  and  pour'd  his  gear  ; 
My  servants  all  for  life  did  flee. 
And  left  me  in  extremitie. 

I  sew'd  liis  sheet,  making  my  moan  ; 
i  watched  liis  corpse,  myself  alone ; 


I  watched  \\in  body,  night  and  day ; 
No  living  creature  came  that  way. 

I  took  his  body  on  my  back, 

And  whiles  I  gaed  and  whiles  I  sat  ; 

I  digg'd  a  grave  and  laid  him  in. 

And  happ'd  him  with  the  sod  so  green. 

But  think  na  ye  my  heart  was  sair 
When  I  laid  the  mould  on  his  yellow 

hair  ; 
Think  nae  ye  my  heart  was  M'ae, 
AVhen  I  turned  about,  away  to  gae  ? 

No  living  man  I'll  love  again, 
Since  that  my  lovely  knight  is  slain  ; 
With  one  lock  of  his  yellow  hair, 
I'll  bind  my  heart  for  evermair. 


THE  liORD  OF  BTJHLEIGH. 

Ix  her  ear  he  whispers  gaily, 

"  If  my  heart  by  signs  can  tell, 
Maiden,  I  have  watch'd  thee  dail}'. 

And  I  think  thou  lov'st  me  well." 
She  replies,  in  accents  fainter, 

"  There  is  none  I  love  like  thee." 
He  is  but  a  landscape-painter. 

And  a  village  maiden  slie. 
He  to  lips,  tliat  fondly  falter. 

Presses  his  without  reproof ; 
Leads  her  to  the  village  altar, 

xind  they  leave  lier  father's  roof. 

"  I  can  make  no  marriage  present  ; 

Little  can  I  give  my  wife. 
Love  will  make  our  cottage  pleasant. 

And  I  love  thee  more  than  life." 

They  by  parks  and  lodges  going 
See  the  lordly  castles  stand  ; 

Sviiumer  woods,  about  them  blowing, 
Alade  a  murmur  in  the  land. 

From  deep  thought  himself  he  rouses 
Says  to  her  that  loves  him  well, 

"  Let  us  see  these  handsome  houses 
AVhere  the  wealthy  nobles  dwell." 

So  she  goes  by  him  attended. 
Hears  him  lovingly  converse, 

Sees  M'hatever  fair  and  splendid 
Lay  betwixt  his  home  and  hers. 

Park;  with  oak  and  chestnut  shady, 
i'arks  and  order'd  gardens  great. 


Ballads. 


339 


Ancient  homes  of  lord  and  lady. 
Built  for  pleasure  and  for  state. 

All  he  shows  her  makes  him  dearer ; 

Evermore  she  scorns  to  gaze 
On  that  cottage  growing  nearer. 

Where  they  twain  will  spend  their 
days. 
0  but  she  will  love  him  truly  ! 

He  shall  have  a  cheerful  home ; 
Slie  will  order  all  things  duly, 

VVlien  beneath  his  roof  they  come. 

Thus  her  heart  rejoices  greatly, 

Till  a  gateway  she  discerns 
With  armorial  bearings  stately. 

And  beneath  the  gate  she  turns  ; 
Sees  a  mansion  more  majestic 

Than  all  those  she  saw  before ; 
Many  a  gallant  gay  domestic 

Eows  before  him  at  the  door. 

And  they  speak  in  gentle  munnur. 
When  they  answer  to  his  call, 

While  he  treads  with  footstep  firmer. 
Leading  on  from  hall  to  hall. 

And  while  now  she  wanders  blindly. 

Nor  the  meaning  can  divine. 
Proudly  turns  he  round  and  kindly, 

"  All  of  this  is  mine  and  thine." 


But  a  trouble  weigh'd  upon  her, 

And  perplex'd  her,  night  and  morn 

With  tlie  burden  of  an  honour 
Unto  wiiicii  she  was  not  born. 

Faint  she  grew,  and  ever  fainter. 
As  she  nuirmur'd,  "  Oh,  that  he 

Were  once  more  that  landscape-painter 
Wiiich  did  win  my  heart  from  me  !  " 

So  she  droop"d  and  droop'd  before  him, 
Fading  slowly  from  his  side  ; 

Three  fair  children  first  she  bore  him. 
Then  before  her  time  she  died. 

Weeping,  weeping  late  and  early. 

Walking  up  and  pacing  down. 
Deeply  mourn'd  the  Lord  of  liurleigli, 

Burleigh-house  by  Stamford-town. 
And  lie  came  to  look  upon  her. 

And  he  look'd  at  her  and  said, 
"  Bring  the  dress  and  put  it  on  her. 

That  she  wore  when  she  was  wed." 

Then  her  people,  softly  treading, 
Bore  to  earth  her  body,  drest 

In  the  dress  that  she  was  wed  in, 
Tliat  her  spirit  might  have  rest. 

.    Lord  Teniii/wn. 


Here  he  lives  in  state  and  bounty. 

Lord  of  Burleigh,  fair  and  free. 
Not  a  lord  in  all  the  county 

Is  so  great  a  lord  as  he. 
All  at  once  the  colour  flushes 

Her  sweet  face  from  brow  to  chin  ; 
As  it  were  with  shame  she  blushes. 

And  her  spirit  changed  within. 

Then  her  countenance  all  over 
Pale  again  as  death  did  prove : 

But  he  clasp'd  her  like  a  lover. 
And  he  cheer'd  her  soul  with  love. 


THE  LADY  OF  SHALOTT. 

Pabt  L 
On  either  side  the  river  lie 
Long  fields  of  barley  and  of  rye, 
That  clothe  the  wold  and  meet  the  sky  ; 
And  thro'  the  road  runs  by 

To  many  tower'd  Camelot. 
And  up  and  down  the  people  go. 
Gazing  where  the  lilies  blow, 
Round  an  island  there  below. 

The  island  of  Shalott. 


So  she  strove  against  her  weakness, 

Tho'  at  times  her  spirits  sank ; 
Shaped  her  heart  with  woman's  meek 
ness 

To  all  duties  of  her  rank ; 
And  a  gentle  consort  made  he. 

And  her  gentle  mind  was  such 
That  slie  grew  a  noble  lady. 

And  the  people  loved  her  much. 


W^illows  whiten,  aspens  quiver. 
Little  breezes  dusk  and  shiver 
Thro'  the  wave  that  runs  for  ever. 
By  the  island  in  the  river, 

Flowing  down  to  Camelot, 
Four  gray  walls,  and  four  gray  towers, 
Overlook  a  space  of  flowera. 
And  the  silent  isle  embowers 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 


340 


Poems  for  Children. 


By  the  margin,  willow-veil'd, 
Slide  the  heavy  barges  trail'd 
By  slow  horses  ;  and  unhail'd 
The  shallop  fiitteth  silken-sail'd 

Skimming  down  to  Camelot : 
But  who  hath  seen  her  Arave  her  hand  ? 
Or  at  the  casement  seen  her  stand  ? 
Or  is  she  known  in  all  the  land. 

The  Lady  of  Shalott  2 

Only  reapers,  reaping  early 
In  among  the  bearded  barley, 
Hear  a  song  that  echoes  cheerly 
From  the  river  winding  clearly, 

Down  to  tower'd  Camelot : 
And  by  the  moon  the  reaper  Aveary, 
Piling  sheaves  in  uplands  airy. 
Listening,  whispers  "  'Tis  the  fairy 

Lady  of  Shalott." 

Part  IL 

There  she  a\  eaves  by  night  and  day 
A  magic  web  "with  colours  gay. 
She  has  heard  a  whisper  say 
A  curse  is  on  her  if  she  stay 

To  look  down  to  Camelot. 
She  knows  not  what  the  curse  may  be 
And  so  she  weaveth  steadily, 
And  little  other  care  hath  she. 

The  l^dy  of  Shalott. 

And  moving  thro'  a  mirror  clear 
That  hangs  before  her  all  the  year, 
Shadows  of  the  world  appear. 
There  she  sees  the  highway  near 

Winding  down  to  Camelot : 
There  the  river  eddy  whirls, 
And  there  the  surly  village-chuiis. 
And  the  red  cloaks  of  market  girls, 

Pass  onward  from  Shalott. 

Sometimes  a  troop  of  damsels  glad. 
An  abbot  on  an  ambling  pad. 
Sometimes  a  curly  shepherd-lad, 
Or  long-hair'd  page  in  crimson  clad. 
Goes  by  to  tower'd  Camelot : 
And  sometimes  thro'  the  mirror  blue 
The  knights  come  riding  two  and  two  : 
She  hath  no  loyal  knight  and  true. 
The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

But  in  her  web  she  still  delights 
To  weave  the  mirror's  magic  sights, 
For  often  thro'  the  silent  nights 
A  funeral,  with  plumes  and  lights. 

And  music,  Wcut  to  Camelot : 


Or  when  the  moon  was  overhead. 
Came  two  young  lovers  lately  wed     " 
"  I  am  half  sick  of  shadows,"  said 
The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

Pakt    IIL 

A  bow-shot  from  her  bower-eaves. 
He  rode  between  the  barley-sheaves. 
The  sun  came  dazzling  thro'  the  leaves. 
And  flamed  upon  the  brazen  greaves 

Of  bold  Sir  Lancelot. 
A  red-cross  knight  for  ever  kneel'd 
To  a  lady  in  his  shield, 
That  sparkled  on  the  yellow  field. 

Beside  remote  Shalott. 

The  gemmy  bridle  glitter'd  free, 
liike  to  some  branch  of  stars  we  see 
Hung  in  the  golden  Galaxy. 
The  bridle  bells  rang  merrily 

As  he  rode  down  to  Camelot : 
And  from  his  brazen'd  baldric  sliaig 
A  mighty  silver  bulge  hung. 
And  as  he  rode  his  armour  rung, 

Beside  remote  Shalott. 

All  in  the  blue  unclouded  weather 
Thick-jewell'd  shone  the  saddle-leather 
The  helmet  and  the  helmet-feather 
Burn'd  like  one  burning  flame  together. 

As  he  rode  down  to  Camelot. 
As  often  thro'  the  purple  night. 
Below  the  starry  clusters  bright. 
Some  bearded  meteor,  trailing  light, 

Moves  over  still  Shalott. 

His  broad  clear  brow  in  sunlight  glow'd  ■ 
On  burnish'd  hooves  his  war-horse  trod  ; 
From  xmderneath  his  helmet  flow'd 
His  coal-black  curls  as  on  he  rode, 

As  he  rode  down  to  Camelot. 
From  the  bank  and  from  the  river 
He^flash'd  into  the  crystal  mirror, 
"  Tii^ra,  lirra,"  by  the  river 

Sang  Sir  Lancelot. 

She  left  the  web,  she  left  the  loom, 
She  made  three  paces  thro'  the  room, 
She  saw  the  water-lily  bloom. 
She  saw  the  helmet  and  the  plume. 

She  looked  down  to  Camelot. 
Out  flew  the  web  and  floated  wide  ; 
Tlie  mirror  crack'd  from  side  to  side  ; 
"  The  curse  is  come  upon  me,"  cried 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 


Ballads. 


341 


Part  IV. 

In  the  stormy  east- wind  straining, 
The  pale  yellow  woods  were  waning, 
The  broad  stream  in  ita  banks  com- 
plaining, 
Heavily  the  low  sky  raining 

Over  tower'd  Camelot ; 
Down  she  came  and  found  a  boat 
Beneath  a  willow  left  afloat, 
And  ronnd  about  the  prow  she  wTote 

The  Lady  of  Shcdott. 

And  down  the  river's  dim  expanse — 
Like  some  bold  seer  in  a  trance. 
Seeing  all  liis  own  mischance — 
With  a  glassy  countenance 

Did  she  look  to  Camelot. 
And  at  the  closing  of  the  day 
She  loosed  the  chain,  and  down  she  lay  ; 
Tiic  broad  stream  bore  her  far  away. 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

Lying,  robed  in  snowy  white 
That  loosely  flew  to  left  and  right — 
The  leaves  upon  her  falling  light — 
Thro'  the  noises  of  the  niglit 

She  floated  down  to  Camelot ; 
And  as  the  boat-head  wound  along 
Tlie  willowy  hills  and  fields  among. 
They  heard  her  singing  her  last  song. 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

Heard  a  carol,  mournful,  holy. 
Chanted  loudly,  chanted  lowly, 
Till  her  blood  was  frozen  slowly. 
And  her  eyes  were  darken'd  wholly, 

Turn'd  to  tower'd  Camelot ; 
For  ere  she  reach'd  upon  the  tide 
The  first  house  by  the  Avater-side, 
Singing  in  her  song  she  died. 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

Under  tower  and  balcony, 
By  garden-wall  and  gallery, 
A  gleaming  shape  she  floated  by. 
Dead-pale  between  the  houses  high. 

Silent  into  Camelot ; 
Out  upon  the  wharfs  they  came. 
Knight  and  burgher,  lord  and  dame. 
And  round  the  prow  they  read  her  name. 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

Who  is  this  ?  and  what  is  here  ? 
And  in  the  lighted  palace  near 
Died  the  sound  of  royal  cheer; 


And  they  cross'd  themselves  for  fear, 
AJJ  the  knights  at  Camelot ; 

But  Lancelot  mused  a  little  space  ; 

He  said,  "  She  has  a  lovely  face  ; 

God  in  his  mercy  lend  her  grace. 
The  Lady  of  Shalott." 

Lord  Tennyson. 


SIB  GAIiAHAD. 

My  good  blade  carves  the  casques  of 
men, 

My  tough  lance  thrusteth  sure  ; 
My  strength  is  as  the  strength  of  ten, 

Because  my  heart  is  pure. 
The  shattering  trumpet  shrilleth  high. 

The  hard  brands  shiver  on  the  steel. 
The  splinter'd  spear-ahafts  crack  and 

fly. 

The  horse  and  rider  reel ; 
They  reel,  they  roll  in  clanging  lists. 

And  when  the  tide  of  combat  stands. 
Perfume  and  flowers  fall  in  showers. 

That  lightly  rain  from  ladies'  hands. 

How  sweet  are  looks  that  ladies  bend 

On  whom  their  favours  fall  ! 
For  them  I  battle  till  the  end. 

To  save  from  shame  and  thrall : 
But  all  my  heart  is  drawn  above. 

My  knees  are  bowed  in  crypt  and 
shrine : 
I  never  felt  the  kiss  of  love. 

Nor  maiden's  hand  in  mine. 
More  bounteous  aspects  on  me  beam. 

Me   mightier  transports   move   and 
thrUl; 
So  keep  I  fear  thro'  faith  and  prayer 

A  virgin  heart  in  work  and  will. 

When  down  the  stormy  crescent  goes, 

A  light  before  me  swims. 
Between  dark  stems  the  forest  glows, 

I  hear  a  noise  of  hymns  : 
Then  by  some  secret  shrine  I  ride  ; 

I  hear  a  voice,  but  none  are  there  ; 
The  stalls  are  void,  the  doors  are  wide. 

The  tapers  burning  fair. 
Fair  gleams  the  snowy  altar-cloth. 

The  silver  vessels  sparkle  clean. 
The  shrill  bell  rings,  the  censer  swings, 

And  solemn  chants  resound  between 


342 


Poems  for  Children. 


Sometimes  on  lonely  mountain-meres 

I  fmd  a  magic  bark  ; 
I  leap  on  board  :  no  helmsman  steers : 

I  float  till  all  is  dark. 
A  gentle  sound,  an  awful  light ! 

Three  angels  bear  the  holy  Grail : 
With  folded  feet,  in  stoles  of  white, 

On  sleeping  wings  they  sail. 
Ah,  blessed  vision  !  blood  of  God  ! 

My  spirit  beats  her  mortal  bars. 
As  do-n-n  dark  tides  the  glory  slides. 

And  star-like  mingles  with  the  stars. 

'V^'lien  on  my  goodly  charger  borne 

Thro'  dreaming  towns  I  go, 
The    cock    crows   ere    the    Christmas 
morn, 

The  streets  are  dumb  with  snow. 
The  tempest  crackles  on  the  leads. 

And,  ringing,  spins  from  brand  and 
mail ; 
But  o'er  the  dark  a  glory  spreads, 

And  gilds  the  driving  hail. 
1  leave  the  plain,  I  climb  the  height ; 

Ko  branchy  thicket  shelter  yields  ; 
But  blessed  forms  in  whistling  storms 

Fly  o'er  waste  fens  and  windy  liclds. 

A  maiden  knight— to  me  is  given 

Such  hope,  I  know  not  fear  ; 
I  yearn  to  breathe  the  airs  of  Heaven 

That  often  meet  me  here. 
I  muse  on  joy  that  will  not  cease. 

Pure  spaces  clothed  in  living  beams, 
Pure  lilies  of  eternal  peace. 

Whose  odours  haunt  my  dreams  ; 
And,  stricken  by  an  angel's  hand. 

This  mortal  armour  that  I  Mear, 
This  weight  and  size,  this   heart   and 
eyes, 

Are  touch'd,  are  turn'd  to  finest  air. 

The  clouds  are  broken  in  the  sky. 

And  thro'  the  mountain-walls. 
A  rolling  organ-harmony 

Swells  up,  and  shakes  and  falls. 
Then  move  the  trees,  the  copses  nod, 

Wings  flutter,  voices  hover  clear : 
"  0  just  and  faithful  knight  of  God  ! 

Ride  on  !  the  prize  is  near." 
So  pass  I  hostel,  hall,  and  grange  ; 

By  bridge  and   ford,    by  park    and 

pale, 
Alt-arm'd  I  ride,  whate'er  betide, 

Until  I  find  the  holy  Grail. 

Lord  Tennyson. 


FAIR  HELEN  OE  KIHCONNEIi. 
T  WISH  I  were  where  Helen  lies  ! 
Night  and  day  on  me  she  cries  ; 
O  that  I  were  where  Helen  lies. 
On  fair  Kirconnel  Lee  ! 

Curst  be  the  heart  that    thought  the 

thought 
And  curst  the  hand  that  fired  the  shot. 
When  in  my  arms  burd  Helen  dropt. 
And  died  to  succour  me  ! 

0  think  na  ye  my  heart  was  sair, 
When  my  love  dropt  down  and  spak  nae 

mair  ! 
There  did  she  swoon  wi'  meikle  care. 
On  fair  Kirconnel  Lee. 

As  I  went  down  the  water  side, 
None  but  my  foe  to  be  my  guide. 
None  but  my  foe  to  be  my  guide. 
On  fair  Kirconnel  Lee. 

1  lighted  down,  my  sword  did  draw, 
I  hacked  him  in  pieces  sma' 

I  hacked  him  in  pieces  sma'. 

For  her  sake  that  died  for  me. 

O  Helen  fair,  beyond  compare  ! 
I'll  make  a  garland  for  thy  hair. 
Shall  hind  my  heart  for  evermair. 
Until  the  day  I  die. 

O  that  I  were  where  Helen  lies, 
Night  and  day  on  me  she  cries  ; 
Out  of  my  bed  she  bids  me  rise 

Says,  "  Haste,  and  come  to  me  !  " 

0  Helen  fair  !  0  Helen  chaste  ! 
If  I  were  with  thee,  I  were  blest, 
Where  thou   lies  low,   and   takes  thy 

rest 

On  fair  Kirconnel  Lee. 

1  wish  my  grave  were  growing  green, 
A  winding  sheet  drawn  ouer  my  een. 
And  I  by  my  fair  Helen  lying, 

On  fair  Kirconnel  Lee. 

I  wish  I  were  where  Helen  lies  I 
Night  and  day  on  me  she  cries. 
And  I  am  weary  of  the  skies, 

For  her  sake  that  died  for  me. 


Ballads. 


343 


"THE  LINNET  IN  THE  EOCKY 
DEIiLS  " 

The  linnet  in  the  rocky  dells, 

The  moor-lark  in  the  air, 
The  bee  among  the  heather  bells. 

That  hide  my  lady  fair  : 

The  wild  deer  browse  above  her  breast ; 

The  wild  birds  raise  their  brood  ; 
And  they,  her  smiles  of  love  caressed, 

Have  left  her  solitude  ! 

I  ween,  that  when  the  grave's  dark  wall 

Did  first  her  form  retain. 
They  thought  their  hearts  could  ne'er 
recall. 

The  light  of  joy  again. 

They  thought  the  tide  of  grief  would 
flow. 

Unchecked  through  future  years  ; 
But  Avhere  is  all  their  anguisli  now, 

And  where  arc  all  their  tears  ? 

Well,  let  them  fight  for  honour's  breath, 
Or  pleasure's  shade  pursue — 

The  dweller  in  the  land  of  Death, 
Is  changed  and  careless  too. 

And  if  their  eyes  should  watch  and  weep 

Till  sorrow's  source  were  drj', 
She  would  not  in  her  tranquil  sleep 
Return  a  single  sigh  ! 

Blow,  west  wind,  by  the  lonely  mound. 
And  murmur,  summer  streams — 

There  is  no  need  of  other  sound 
To  soothe  my  ladj^'s  dreams. 

Emily  Bronte. 


BARBABA  ALLEN'S  CRUELTY. 
In  Scarlet  town,  where  I  was  born. 

There  was  a  fair  maid  dwelling. 
Made  every  youth  cry  "  Well-away  1  " 

Her  name  was  Barbara  Allen. 

All  in  the  merry  month  of  May, 

When  green  buds  they  were  swelling, 

Young  Jemmy  Grove  on  his  death- bed 
lay, 
For  love  of  Barbara  Allen. 


He  sent  his  man  unto  her  then. 

To  the  town  wlicre  she  was  dwelling; 

*'  You  must  come  to  my  master  dear. 
If  your  name  be  Barljara  Allen. 

For  death  is  printed  on  his  face, 
And  o'er  his  heart  is  stealing  ; 

Then  haste  away  to  comfort  him, 
O  lovely  Barbara  Allen." 

"  Though  death  be  printed  on  his  face. 
And  o'er  his  heart  is  stealing. 

Yet  little  better  shall  he  be. 
For  bonny  Barbara  Allen." 

So  slowly,  slowly,  she  came  up. 
And  slowly  she  came  nigh  him  ; 

And  all  she  said,  when  there  she  came, 
"  Young  man  ,  I  think  you're  dying." 

He  turned  his  face  imto  her  straight, 
AVith  deadly  sorrow  sighing, 

"  0  lovely  maid,  come  pity  me, 
I'm  on  my  death-bed  lying." 

"  If  on  yoiu:  death-bed  you  do  lie. 
What  needs  the  tale  you're  telling  ; 

I  cannot  keep  you  from  your  death ; 
Farewell,"  said  Barbara  Allen. 

He  tum'd  his  face  unto  the  wall, 

As  deadly  pangs  he  fell  in  ; 
*'  Adieu  !     Adieu  !     Adieu  to  you   all. 

Adieu  to  Barbara  Allen." 

As  she  was  walking  o'er  the  fields. 
She  heard  the  bell  a-knelling. 

And  every  stroke  did  seem  to  say, 
"  Unworthy  Barbara  Allen  !  " 

She  turn'd  her  body  round  about. 
And  spied  the  corpse  a-coming, 

*'  Lay  down,  lay  down,  the  corpse,"  she 
said, 
"  That  I  may  look  upon  him." 

With  scornful  eye  she  looked  down. 
Her  cheeks  with  laughter  sweUing, 

Whilst  all  her  friends  cried  out  amain, 
"  Unworthy   Barbara   Allen  !  " 

When  he  was  dead  and  laid  in  grave 
Her  heart  was  struck  with  sorrow, 

"  O  mother,  mother,  make  my  bed. 
For  I  shall  die  to-morrow." 

Hard-hearted  creature  him   to  slight. 
Who  loved  me  so  dearly ; 


344 


Poems   for  Children. 


O  that  I  had  been  more  kind  to  him, 
When  he  was  alive  and  near  me  ! 

She,  on  her  death- bed  as  she  lay, 
Begg'd  to  be  buried  by  him  ; 

And  sore  repented  of  the  day. 
That  she  did  ere  deny  him. 

"  Farewell,"  she  said,  "  ye  virgins  all. 
And  shmi  the  fault  I  fell  in  ; 

Henceforth,  take  warning  by  the  fall 
Of  cruel  Barbara  Allen." 


BOSABELIiB. 

0  listen,  listen,  ladies  gay  ! 

No  haughty  feat  of  arms  I  tell  { 
Soft  is  the  note,  and  sad  the  lay, 

That  mourns   the  lovely  Rosabella. 

"  Moor,    moor   the   barge,    ye   gallant 
crew. 

And  gentle  lady,  deign  to  stay  ! 
Rest  thee  in  Castle  Ravenheuch, 

Nor  tempt  the  stormy  firth  to-day, 

"  The  blackening  wave  is   edged  with 

white  ; 

To  inch  and  rock  the  sea-mews  fly  ; 

The  fishers  have  heard  the  Water- Sprite, 

Whose  screams  forbode  that  wreck 

is  nigh. 

"  Last  night  the  gifted  seer  did  view 
A  wet  shroud   swathed  round  lady 

ga^y ; 

Then  stay  thee,  Fair,  in  Ravensheuch  ?' 
Why  cross  the  gloomy  firth  to-day  ?  " 

"  'Tis  not  because  Lord  Lindesay's  heir 
To-night  at  RosUn  leads  the  ball, 

But  that  my  lady-mother  there 
Sits  lonely  in  her  castle  hall. 

"  'Tis  not  because  the  ring  they  ride. 
And  Lindesay  at  the  ring  rides  well, 

But  that  my  sire  the  wine  will  chide 
If  'tis  not  fill'd  by  Rosabelle." 

— O'er  Roshn  all  that  dreary  night 
A  wondrous  blaze  was  seen  to  gleam; 

'Twas  broader  than  the  watch-fires'  light 
And  i-edder  than  the  bright   moon- 
beam. 


It  glared  on  Roslin's  castled  rock. 
It   ruddied  all  the  copse-wood  glen  ; 

'Twas  seen  from  Drj'den's  groves  of  oak. 
And     seen     from     cavem'd     Haw- 
thornden. 

Seem'd  all  on  fire  that  chapel  proud 
Where  Roslin's  chiefs  uncoflin'd  he. 

Each  Baron,  for  a  sable  shroud, 
Sheath'd  in  his  iron  panoply. 

Seem'd  all  on  fire  within,  around. 
Deep  sacristy  and  altar's  pale ; 

Shone  every  pillar  foUage-bound, 
And  gUmmer'd  all  the  dead  men's 
maU. 

Blazed  battlement  and  pinnet  high. 
Blazed    every    rose-carved   buttress 
fair — 

So  still  they  blaze,  when  fate  is  nigh 
The  lordly  Une  of  high  St.  Clair. 

There  are  twenty  of  RosUn's  barons  bold 
Lie  buried  within  that  proud  chapelle  ; 

Each  one  the  holy  vault  doth  hold, 
But  the  sea  holds  lovely  Rosabelle  I 

And  each  St.  Clair  was  buried  there. 
With  candle,  with  book,  and  with 
knell; 
But  the  sea-caves  rung,  and  the  wild 
winds  sung, 
The  dirge  of  lovely  Rosabelle. 

Sir  Walter  Scott, 


ATTLD  BOBIN  GRAY. 

(scotch  dialect.) 
When  the  sheep  are  in  the  fauld,  and 

the  kye  at  hame. 
And  all  the  world  to  sleep  are  gane, 
The  woes  of  my  heart  fall  in  showers 

frae  my  e'e. 
While  my  gudeman  Ues  sound  by  me. 

Young  Jamie  lo'ed  me  weel,  and  sought 

me  for  his  bride. 
But  saving  a  crown  he  had  naething 

mair  beside. 
To  make  the  crown  a  pound,  my  Jamie 

gaed  to  sea ; 
And  the  crown  and  the  pound  were 

baith  for  me  I 


Ballads. 


345 


He  hadna  been  gane  a  week  but  only 

twa, 
When  my  father  brak  his  arm,   and 

our  cow  was  stown  awa  ; 
My  mother  she  fell  sick,  and  my  Jamie 

at  the  sea ; 
And  auld  Robin  Gray  came  a-courting 

me  1 

My  father  couldna  work,  my  mother 

couldna  spin  ; 
I  toiled  day  and  night,  but  their  bread 

I  couldna  win  ; 
Auld  Rob  maintained  them  baith,  and, 

wi'  tears  in  his  ee. 
Said  ;  "  Jeanie,  for  their  sakes,  will  you 

no  marry  me  ?  " 

My  heart   it   said   na — I    look'd     for 

Jamie  back ; 
But  the  wind  it  blew  high,  and  the  ship 

it  was  a  wrack  ; 
His  ship  it  was  a  wrack — why  didna 

Jeanie  dee  ? 
Oh  !  why  do  I  live  to  say  "  Wae's  me  ?  ' 

My  father   argued   sair ;     my    mother 

didna  speak. 
But  she  looked  in  my  face,  till  my  heart 

was  like  to  break  ; 
So  they  gi'ed  liirn  my  hand,  though  my 

heart  was  at  sea  ; 
And  auld  Robin  Gray  is  gudeman  to  me. 

I  hadna  been  a  wife  a  week  but  only 

four, 
When,  mournful  as  I  sat  on  the  stane 

at  the  door, 
I  saw  my  Jamie's  wraith,  I  couldna 

think  it  he. 
Till  he  said,  "  I'm  come  hame,  my  love, 

to  marry  thee." 

Oh  sair  did  we  greet,  and  mickle  did 
we  say ; 

We  took  but  ae  kiss  and  we  tore  our- 
selves away. 

I  wish  that  I  were  dead,  but  I'm  no 
like  to  dee  ; 

Oh  !  why  waa  I  bom  to  say,  "  Wae'a 
me  !  " 

I  gang  like  s  ghaist,  and  I  carena  to 

spin, 
I  darena  think  on  Jamie,  for  that  would 

be  a  sin : 


But  I  will  do  my  best  a  gude  wife  aye 

to  be, 
For  auld  Robin  Gray,  is  a  kind  gudeman 

to  me. 

Lady  Anne  Lindsay. 


EDWABD  GHAT. 

Sweet    Emma    Moreland    of    yonder 
town. 
Met  we  walking  on  yonder  way, 
"  And  have  you  lost  your  heart  ?  "  she 
said  ; 
"  And  are  you  married  yet,  Edward 
Gray  ?  " 

Sweet  Emma  Moreland  spoke  to  me  : 
Bitterly  weeping  I  turn'd  away  : 

"  Sweet  Emma  Moreland,  love  no  more 
Can  touch  the  heart  of  Edward  Gray. 

"  Ellen  Adair  she  loved  me  well, 

Against   her   father's   and   mother's 
wiU; 

To-day  I  sat  for  an  hour  and  wept. 
By  Ellen's  grave,  on  the  windy  hill. 

"  Shy  she  was,  and  I  thought  her  cold ; 

Thought  her  proud  and  fled  over  the 
sea ; 
Fill'd  I  was  with  foUy  and  spite, 

When  Ellen  Adair  waa  dying  for  me. 

"  Cruel,  cruel  the  words  I  said  ! 

Cruelly  came  they  back  to-day  : 
'  You're    too  slight  and  fickle,'  I  said 

To  trouble  the  heart  of  Edward  Gray. 

"  There  I  put  my  face  in  the  grass — 
Whisper'd,  '  Listen  to    my  despair  : 

I  repent  me  of  all  I  did 

Speak  a  little,  Ellen  Adair  I  * 

"  Then  I  took  a  pencil,  and  wrote 
On  the  mossy  stone  as  I  lay, 

'  Here  Ues  the  body  of  Ellen  Adair  ; 
And  here  the  heart  of  Edward  Gray  1' 

"  Love  may  come,  and  love  may  go 
And  fly  like  a  bii'd,  from  tree  to  tree  : 

But  I  will  love  no  more,  no  more, 
Till  Ellen  Adair  come  back  to  me. 

"  Bitterly  wept  I  over  the  stone : 
Bitterly  weeping  I  turn'd  awayt 


346 


Poems  for  Children. 


There  lies  the  body  of  Ellen  Adair  ! 
And     there    the   heart   of    Edward 
Gray  1  " 

Lord  Tennyson, 


liA  BELLE  DAME   SANS 
MEKCI. 

O  WHAT  can  ail  thee,  Knight-at-arms, 
Alone  and  palely  loitering  ? 

The  sedge  has  wither'd  from  the  lake, 
And  no  birds  sing. 

0  what  can  ail  thee,  knight-at-arms  I 
So  haggard  and  so  woe- begone  1 

The  squirrel's  granary  is  full. 
And  the  harvest's  done. 

1  see  a  hly  on  thy  brow. 

With  anguish  moist  and  fever  dew. 
And  on  thy  cheeks  a  fading  rose 
Fast  withered  too. 

I  met  a  lady  in  the  meads, 

Full  beautiful — a  faery's  child. 

Her  hair  was  long,  her  foot  was  hght. 
And  her  eyes  were  wild. 

I  made  a  garland  for  her  head. 

And  bracelets  too,  and  fi-agrant  zone ; 

She  look'd  at  me  as  she  did  love. 
And  made  sweet  moan. 

I  set  her  on  my  pacing  steed, 

And  nothing  else  saw  all  day  long. 

For  sidelong  she  would  bend  and  sing, 
A  faery's  song. 

She  found  me  roots  of  relish  sweet. 
And  honey  wild  and  manna  dew. 

And  sure  in  language  strange  she  said, 
"  I  love  thee  true." 

She  took  me  to  her  elfin  grot. 

And  there  she  wept,  and  sigh'd  full 
sore. 
And  there  I  shut  her  wild,  wild  eyes 

With  Kisses  four. 

And  there  she  hdled  me  asleep, 

And    there    I    drcam'd — Ah  !     woe 
betide. 

The  latest  dream  I  ever  dream'd 
On  the  cold  hill's  side. 


I  saw  pale  kings  and  princes  too, 
Pale  warriors,  death-pale  were  they 
all; 
They  cried — "  La    Belle     Dame     sans 
Merci 
Hath  thee  in  thrall !  " 

I  saw  their  starved  lips  in  the  gloam. 
With  horrid  warning  gaped  Avide, 

And  I  awoke  and  found  me  here. 
On  the  cold  hiU's  side. 

And  this  is  why  I  sojourn  here. 

Alone  and  palely  loitering, 
Though  the  sedge  is  wither'd  from  the 
lake. 
And  no  birds  sing. 

John  Keats. 


ANNIE  LAURIE. 

Maxwelton  braes  are  bonnie 
Where  early  fa's  the  dew. 
And  its  there  that  Annie  Laurie 
Gie'd  me  her  promise  true — 
Gie'd  me  her  promise  true. 
Which  ne'er  forgot  wiU  be  ; 
And  for  bonnie  Annie  I^aurie 
I'd  lay  me  doune  and  dee. 

Her  brow  is  hke  the  snawdrift. 
Her  throat  is  like  the  swan. 
Her  face  it  is  the  fairest 
That  e'er  the  sun  shone  on — 
That  e'er  the  sun  shone  on  : 
And  dark  blue  is  her  e'e ; 
And  for  bonnie  Annie  Laurie 
I'd  lay  me  doune  and  dee. 

Like  dew  on  the  gowan  lying 
Is  the  fa'  o'  her  fairy  feet ; 
Like  the  winds  in  summer  sighing. 
Her  voice  is  low  and  sweet — 
Her  voice  is  low  and  sweet ; 
And  she's' a'  the  world  to  me  ; 
And  for  Bonnie  Annie  Laurie 
I'd  lay  me  doune  and  dee. 

Williain  Douglas  of  Fingland. 


LORD  TTLLIN'S  DAUGHTER. 

A  Chieftain  to  the  Highlands  bound 
Cries,   "  Boatman,  do  not  tarry  1 

And  I'll  give  thee  a  silver  pound 
To  row  us  o'er  the  ferry  I  " 


Ballads. 


347 


—"Now,    who    be    ye,   would    cross 
Lochgyle 

This  dark  and  stormy  water  ?  " 
— "  O  I'm  the  chief   of  Ulva's  isle, 

And  this.  Lord  Ullin's  daughter. 

"  And  fast  before  her  father's  men 
Three  days  we've  fled  together. 

For  should  he  find  us  in  the  glen. 
My  blood  would  stain  the  heather. 

"  His  horsemen  hard  behind  us  ride — 
Should  they  our  steps  discover. 

Then  who  will  cheer  my  bonny  bride 
When  they  have  slain  her  lover  ?  " 

Out  spoke  the  hardy  Highland  wight, 
"  I'll  go,  my  chief,  I'm  ready  : 

It  is  not  for  your  silver  bright. 
But  for  your  winsome  lady : — 

"  And  by  my  word  !  the  bonny  bird 

In  danger  shall  not  tarry  ; 
So  though  the  waves  are  raging  white, 

I'll  row  you  o'er  the  ferry." 

By  this  the  storm  grew  loud  apace. 
The   water-wraith   was  shrieking ; 

And  in  the  scowl  of  heaven  each  face 
Grew  dark  as  they  were  speaking. 

But  still  as  wilder  blew  the  wind. 
And  as  the  night  grew  drearer, 

Adown  the  glen  rode  armed   men, 
Their  trampling  sounded  nearer. 

"  O  haste  thee,  haste  !  "  the  lady  cries, 
"  Though  tempests  round  us  gather  ; 

I'll  meet  the  raging  of  the  skies, 
But  not  an  angry  father  !  " 

The  boat  has  left  a  stormy  land, 
A  stormy  sea  before  her — 

When,  O  !  too  strong  for  human  hand 
The  tempest  gather'd  o'er  her. 

And  still  they  row'd  amidst  the  roar 

Of  waters  fast  prevailing  : 
Lord  Ullin  reach'd  that  fatal  shore, — 

His  wrath  was  changed  to  wailing. 

for,  sore  dismay'd,  through  storm  and 
shade 

His  child   he  did  discover  : — 
One  lovely  hand  she  strctch'd  for  aid, 

And  one  was  round  her  lover. 


"  Come  back  !  come  back  !  "  he  cried 
in  grief. 

Aero  s  this  stormy  water  : 
And  I'll  forgive  your  Highland  chief  :  — 

My  daughter  ! — O  my  daughter  !  " 

'Twas  vain :  the  loud  waves  lash'd  the 
shore, 

lletuin  or  aid  preventing : 
The  waters  wild  went  o'er  his  child, 

And  he  was  left  lamenting. 

Thomas  Campbell. 


TAFFAR. 

Jaffar,  the  Barmecide,  the  good  Vizier, 

The  poor  man's  hope,  the  friend 
without  a  peer. 

Jaffar  was  dead,  slain  by  a  doom 
imjust ; 

And  guilty  Haroun,  sullen  with  mis- 
trust 

Of  what  the  good,  and  e'en  the  bad 
might  say, 

Ordain'd  that  no  man  living  from  that 
day 

Should  dare  to  speak  his  name  on  pain 
of  death. 

All  Araby  and  Persia  held  their  breath. 

All     but    the     brave    Mondeer. — He, 

proud  to  show 
How  far  for  love  a  grateful  soul  could 

go, 
And  facing  death  for  very  scorn  and 

grief, 
(For  his  great  heart  wanted  a  great 

relief,) 
Stood   forth  in   Bagdad,   daily   in   the 

square 
Where  once  had  stood  a  hajjpy  houtse, 

and  there 
Harangued     the     tremblers     at     the 

scymitar 
On  all  they  owed  to  the  divine  Jaffar. 

"  Bring  me  this  man,"  the  cahph  cried  : 

the  man 
Was   Ijrought,   was  gazed  upon.     The 

mutes  began 
To  bind  his  arms.     ''  Welcome,  brave 

cords,"  cried  he  ; 
"  From  bonds  far  worse  Jaffar  dcliver'd 

me ; 


U8 


Poems  for  Children. 


From  wants,  from  shames,  from  love- 
less household  fears  ; 

Made  a  man's  eyes  friends  with 
delicious    tears  ; 

Restor'd  me,  loved  me,  put  me  on  a 
par 

With  his  great  self.  How  can  I  pay 
JafEar  ?  " 

Haroun,  who  felt  that  on  a  soul  like 

this 
The    mightiest    vengeance    could    but 

fall  amiss, 
Now  deigned   to  smile,   as   one  great 

lord  of  fate 
Might    smile    upon    another    half    as 

great. 
He  said,  "  Let  worth  grow  frenzied  if 

it  will ; 
The  caUph's  judgment  shall  be  master 

still. 
Go,  and  since  gifts  so  move  thee,  take 

this  gem, 
The  richest  in  the  Tartar's  diadem, 
And  hold  the  giver  as  thou  deemest 

fit." 
"  Gifts  !  "  cried  the  friend.     He  took  ; 

and  holding  it 
High  towards  the  heaven,  as  though 

to  meet  his  star 
Exclaimed,  "  This,  too,  I  owe  to  thee, 

Jaffar  1  " 

Leigh  Hunt. 


Till  all  the  pit,  with  sand  and  mane, 
was  in  a  thundrous  smother  ; 

The  bloody  foam  above  the  bars  came 
whisking  through  the  air  ; 

Said  Francis,  then,  "  Faith,  gentlemen, 
we're  better  here  than  there  !  " 

De  Lorge's  love  o'erheard  the  King,  a 

beaut  0U3,  hvely  dame. 
With   smiUng  lips,    and   sharp,    bright 

eye=>,  which  always  seemed  the  same  : 
She  thought,  "the  Count  my  lover,  is 

as  brave  as  brave  can  be. 
He  surely  would  do  wondrous  things 

to  show  his  love  of  me  ! 
King,  ladies,  lovers,   all  look  on,   the 

occasion  is  divine  ; 
I'll  drop  my  glove  to  prove  his  love, 

great  glory  will  be  mine  !  " 

She  dropped  her   glove   to    prove  his 

love,  then  looked  at  him  and  smiled  : 
He  bowed,   and  in  a  moment  leaped 

among  the  hons  wild  ; 
The  leap  was  quick  ;  return  was  quick  ; 

he  has  regained  his  place. 
Then  threw  the  glove,  but  not  with  love, 

right  in  the  lady's  face  ! 
"  In    truth  !  "  cried    Francis,  "  rightly 

done  !  "  and  he  rose  from  where  he 

sat ; 
"  No    love,"    quoth  he,    "  but   vanity 

sets  love  a  task  Hke  that." 

Leigh  Hunt, 


THE  GliOVE  AND  THE  LIONS. 

King  Francis  was  a  hearty  king,  and 

loved  a  royal  sport, 
And  one  day,  as  his  Uons  fought,  sat 

looking  on  the  court ; 
The  nobles  fiU'd  the  benches,  and  the 

ladies  in  their  pride. 
And  'mongst  them  sat  the  Count  de 

Lorge,  with  one  for  whom  he  sigh'd  ; 
And  truly  'twas  a  gallant  thing  to  see 

that  crowning  show — 
Valour  and  love,   and  a  king  above, 

and  the  royal  beasts  below. 

Ramped   and   roared   the   lions,    with 

horrid,  laughing  jaws  ; 
They  bit,  they  glared,  gave  blows  like 

beams,  a  wind  went  with  their  paws  ; 
With  wallowing  might  and  stifled  roar 

they  rolled  one  on  another. 


THE  OUTLAWS  SONG. 

The  chough  and  crow  to  rest  are  gone, 

The  owl  sits  in  the  tree. 
The  hush'd  wind  wails  with  feebl;*  moan. 

Like  infant  charity. 
The  wild  fire  dances  on  the  fen. 

The  red  star  sheds  its  ray  ; 
Uprouse  ye,  then,  my  merry  men  I 

It  is  our  opening  day. 

Both  child  and  nurse  are  fast  asleep, 

And  closed  is  every  flower. 
And  winking  tapers  faintly  peep 

Higli  from  my  lady's  bower  ; 
Bewildered  hinds  with  shortened  ken 

Shrink  on  their  murky  way  ; 
Uprouse  ye,  then,  my  merry  men  ! 

It  is  our  opening  day 


Ballads. 


349 


Nor  board  nor  gamer  own  we  now, 

Nor  roof  nor  latched  door. 
Nor  kind  mate,  bound  by  holy  vow. 

To  bless  a  good  man's  store ; 
Noon  lulls  us  in  a  gloomy  den, 

And  night  is  grown  our  day ; 
Uprouse  ye,  then,  my  merry  men. 

And  use  it  as  ye  may." 

Joanna  Baillie, 


THE   OUTLAW. 
O  Bkignall  banks  are  wild  and  fair. 

And  Greta  woods  are  green, 
And  you  may  gather  garlands  there 

Would  grace  a  summer-queen. 
And  as  I  rode  by  Dalton-Hall 

Beneath  the  turrets  high, 
A  Maiden  on  the  castle-wall 

Was  singing  merrily : 
"  O  Brignall  Banks  are  fresh  and  fair. 

And  Greta  woods  are  green  ; 
I'd  rather  rove  with  Edmund  there 

Than  reign   our  Enghsh   quten." 

"  If,  Maiden,  thou  wouldst  wend  with 
me, 

To  leave  both  bower  and  town, 
Thou  first  must  guess  what  hfe  lead  we 

That  dwell  by  dale  and  down. 
And  if  thou  canst  that  riddle  read, 

As  read  fuU  well  you  may. 
Then  to  the  greenwood  shalt  thou  speed 

As  blithe  as  Queen  o'  May." 
Yet  sung  she,  "  Brignall  banks  are  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green  ; 
I'd  rather  rove  with  Edmund  there 

Than  reign  our  English  queen," 


"  I  read  you  by  your  biiglc-horn 

And  by  your  palfrey  good, 
I  read  you  for  a  ranger  sworn 

To  keep  the  king's  greenwood." 
"  A  Ranger,  lady,  winds  his  horn. 

And  'tis  at  peep  of  light ; 
His  blast  is  heard  at  merry  morn, 

And  mine  at  dead  of  night." 
Yet  sung  she,  "  Brignall  banks  arc  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  gay ; 
I  would  I  were  with  Edmund  there 

To  reign  his  Queen  of  May  ! 

"  With  bumish'd  brand  and  musketoon 

So  gallantly  you  come. 
I  read  you  for  a  bold  dragoon 

That  lists  the  tuck  of  drum." 
"  I  list  no  more  the  tuck  of  drum, 

No  more  the  trumpet  hear  ; 
But  when  the  beetle  sounds  his  ham 

My  comrades  take  the  spear. 
And  O  !  though  Brignall  banks  be  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  be  gay. 
Yet  mickle  must  the  maiden  dare 

Would  reign  my  Queen  of  May  ! 

"  Maiden  !  a  nameless  life  I  lead, 

A  nameless  death  I'll  die  ! 
The  fiend  whose  lantern  lights  the  meail 

Were  better  mate  than  I  ! 
And  when  I'm  with  my  comrades  met 

Beneath  the  greenwood  bough 
What  once  we  were  we  all  forget. 

Nor  think  what  we  are  now." 

Ghokus. 

Yet  Brignall  banks  are  fresh  and  fair, 
And  Greta  woods  are  green. 

And  you  may  gather  garlands  there 
Would  grace  a  summer-queen. 

Sir  Walter  ScoU. 


GIRLHOOD. 


THE  NAMES. 
In  Christian  world  Mary  the  garland 

wears  ! 
Rebecca  sweetens  on  a  Hebrew's  ear  ; 
Quakers  for  pure  Priscilla  are  more 

clear ; 
And  the  light  Gaul  by  amorous  Ninoh 

swears. 
Among   the   lesser   lights   how   Lucy 

shines  ! 
What    air    of    fragrance    Rosamond 

tlirows  around  1 
How  like  a  hymn  doth  sweet  Cecilia 

sound  ' 
Of  Marthas,   and   of  Abigails,   few 

lines 
Have   bragg'd   in   verse.     Of   coarsest 

household  stuff 
Should    homely    Joan    be    fashioned. 

But  can 
You  Barbara  resist,  or  Marian  ? 
And    is   not   Clare    for   love   excuse 

enough  ? 
Yet,  by  my  faith  in  numbers,  I  profess. 
These  all,  than  Saxon  Edith,  please 

me  less. 

Cluirles  Lamb. 


TO  A  CHILD  OF  NOBLE  BIRTH. 

My  noble,  lovely,  little  Peggy, 
Let  this  my  First  Epistle  beg  ye. 
At  dawn  of  morn  and  close  of  even. 
To  lift  your  heart  and  hands  to  Heaven. 
In  double  duty  say  your  prayer : 
Our  Father  first,  then  Notre  Pere. 

And,  dearest  cliild,  along  the  day. 
In  everything  you  do  and  say. 
Obey  and  please  my  lord  and  lady. 
So  God  shall  love  and  angels  aid  ye. 


If  to  these  precepts  you  attend. 
No  second  letter  need  I  send. 
And  so  I  rest  your  constant  friend. 

Matthew  Prior, 


CHEBRY  RIPE. 

Cherry  ripe,  ripe,  ripe,  I  cry. 

Full  and  fair  ones — come  and  buy 

If  so  be  you  ask  me  where 

These  do  grow  ? — I  answer  •  There 

Where  my  Julia's  lips  do  smile — 

Whose  plantations  fully  show 

All  the  year  where  cherries  grow. 

Eobert  Herrick. 


WINNT, 

Her   blue   eyes   they  beam   and  they 
twinlde. 
Her  lips   have   made  smiling    more 
fair  ; 
On    cheek    and    on    brow    there's    no 
wrinkle. 
But  thousands  of  curls  in  her  hair. 

She's     little, — you     don't     wish      her 
taller  ; 
Just  half  through  her  teens  is   her 
age; 
And  baby  or  lady  to  call  her, 

Wefe  something  to  puzzle  a  sage  I 

Her  walk  is  far  better   than  dancing ;       i 
She  spealvS  as  another  might  sing  ; 

And  all  by  an  innocent  chancing. 
Like  lambkins  and  birds  in  the  spring. 


Girlhood. 


351 


William  Allingham. 


j      Unskilled  in  the  airs  of  the  city, 
1         She's  perfect  in  natural  grace  ; 
She's  gentle,  and  truthful,  and  witty, 
And  ne'er  spends  a  thought  on   her 
1  face. 

j      Her  face,  with  the  fine  glow  that's  in  it, 
i  As  fresh  as  an  apple-tree  bloom  ; 

And  O  !    when  she  conies,  in  a  minute, 

kLike    sunbeams    she    brightens     the 
room. 
LirCY'S  BIBTHDAY. 
Seventeen  rose-buds  in  a  ring, 
\         Thick  with  sister  flowers  beset. 
In  a  fragrant  coronet, 
Lucy's  servants  this  day  bring. 
Be  it  the  birthday  wreath  she  wears 

Fresh  and  fair  and  symbolling 
The  young  number  of  her  years. 
The  sweet  blushes  of  her  spring. 

Types  of  youth  and  love  and  hope  ! 

Friendly  hearts  your  mistress  greet. 

Be  you  ever  fair  and  sweet. 
And  grow  lovelier  as  you  ope  ! 
Itcntle  nurseling,  fenced  about 

With  fond  care,  and  guarded  so. 
Scarce  you've  heard  of  storms  without. 

Frosts  that  bite  or  winds  that  blow  ! 

Kindly  has  your  life  begun, 

And  we  pray  that  Heaven  may  send 
To  our  floweret  a  warm  sun, 

A  calm  summer,  a  sweet  end. 
And  where'er  shall  be  her  home, 

May  she  decorate  the  place ; 
Still  expanding  into  bloom, 

And  developing  in  grace. 

William  Makepeace  Thackeray. 


I  LOVE  IN  ISA'S  BED  TO  LIE.* 
"  I  LOVE  in  Isa's  bed  to  lie, 
Oh  !  such  a  joy  and  luxury. 
At  the  bottom  of  the  bed  I  sleep, 

'  ilarjorie  Fleming  died  at  the  age  of  eight 
years.    Isa  was  her  cousin  Isabelle. 


And  with  great  care  I  myself  keep ; 
Oft  I  embrace  her  feet  of  lilies 
But  she  has  gotten  all  the  pillies  I 
Her  neck  I  never  can  embrace 
But  I  do  hug  her  feet  in  place. 
Yet  I  am  sure  I'd  rather  be 
In  a  small  bed  at  liberty  !  " 

Marjorie  Fleming. 


TO  HELEN". 

Helen,  thy  beauty  is  to  mo 

Like  those  Nicean  barks  of  yore. 

That  gently,  o'er  a  perfumed  sea. 
The  weary  way-worn  wanderer  bore 
To  his  own  native  shore. 

On  desperate  seas  long  wont  to  roam. 
Thy  hyacinth  hair,  thy  classic  face. 

Thy  Naiad  airs  have  brougiit  me  homo 
To  the  glory  that  was  Greece 

And  the  grandeur  that  was  Rome. 

Lo  !  in  your  brilliant  window-niche 
How  statue-like  I  see  thee  stand 
The  agate  lamp  within  thy  hand. 

Ah  !  Psyche,  from    the    regions    which 
Are  Holy  land. 

Edgar  Allan  Poe. 


HOSE  AYLMER. 

Ah  !  what  avails  the  sceptred  Race 
And  what  the  form  divine  ? 

What  every  virtue,  every  grace  ? 
Rose  Aylmer,  all  were  thine  ! 

Rose  Aylmer,  whom  these  wakeful  eyes 

May  weep  but  never  see, 
A  niglit  of  memories  and  sighs 

I  consecrate  to  thee. 

Walter  Savage  Landor. 


HAVE    YOU    SEEN   A    BBIGHT 
LILY  GROW. 

Have  you  seen  but  a  bright  lily  grow 
Before  rude  hands  have  touched  it  ? 

Have  you  marked  but  the  fall  of  the 
snow. 
Before  the  soil  hath  smutched  it  ? 


3.52 


Poems   for  Children. 


Have  you  felt  the  wool  of  the  beaver  T 
Or  swan's  down  ever  ? 
Or  have  smelt  o'  the  bud  of  the  brier  ? 
Or  the  nard  i'  the  fire  ? 
Or  have  tasted  the  bag  of  the  bee  ? 
Oh,  so  white  !  oh,  so  soft !  oh,  so  sweet, 
is  she  I 

Ben  Jonson, 


TO  DIANA'. 

Queen  and  huntress,  chaste  and  fair, 
Now  the  sun  is  laid  to  sleep. 

Seated  in  thy  silver  chair, 
State  in  wonted  manner  keep. 

Hesperus  entreats  thy  light, 

Goddess,  excellently  bright. 

Earth,  let  not  thy  envious  shade 

Dare  itself  to  interpose  ; 
Cynthia's  shining  orb  was  made 

Heaven  to  clear,  when  day  did  close  ; 
Bless  us  then  with  wished  sight. 
Goddess,  excellently  bright. 

Lay  thy  bow  of  pearl  apart. 
And  thy  crystal-shining  quiver ; 

Give  unto  the  flying  hart 

Space  to  breathe,  how  short  soever  : 

Thou  that  mak'st  a  day  of  night 

Goddess,  excellently  bright. 

Ben  Jonson. 


WHO  IS  SILVIA? 

Who  is  Silvia  ?     What  is  she. 
That  all  our  swains  commend  her  ? 

Holy,  fair,  and  wise  is  she; 

The  heaven  such  grace  did  lend  her. 

That  she  might  admired  be. 

Is  she  kind  as  she  is  fair  ? 

For  beauty  lives  with  kindness  : 
Love  doth  to  her  eyes  repair. 

To  help  him  of  his  blindness  ; 
And,  being  helped,  inhabits  there. 

Then  to  Silvia  let  us  sing, 

That  Silvia  is  excelling 
She  excels  each  mortal  thing 

Upon  the  dull  earth  dwelling  ; 
To  her  let  us  garlands  bring. 

William  Shakespeare 


THE  BEaGAR  MAID. 

Her  arms  across  her  breast  she  laid  ; 

She  was  more  fair  than  words  can 
say: 
Bare- footed  came  the  beggar  maid 

Before  the  king  Cophetua. 
In  robe  and  crown  the  king  stept  down, 

To  meet  and  greet  her  on  her  way  ; 
•'  It  is  no  wonder,"  said  the  lords, 

*'  She  is  more  beautiful  than  day." 

As  shines  the  moon  in  clouded  skies. 

She  in  her  poor  attire  was  seen  : 
One  praised  her  ankles,  one  her  eye? 

One  her  dark  hair  and  lonesome  mien. 
So  sweet  a  face,  such  angel  grace. 

In  all  that  land  had  never  been : 
Cophetua  sware  a  royal  oath  : 

"  This     beggar    maid  shall    be  my 
queen  [ " 

Lord  Tennyson. 


SHE  WAS  A  PHANTOM  OF 
DELIGHT. 

She  was  a  Phantom  of  dehght 
When  first  she  gleamed  upon  my  sight ; 
A  lovely  Apparition,  sent 
To  be  a  moment's  ornament ; 
Her  eyes  as  stars  of  Twilight  fair ; 
Like  Twilight's,  too,  her  dusky  hair : 
But  aU  things  else  about  her  drawn 
From  May-time  and  the  cheerful  Dawn. 
A  dancing  Shape,  an  Image  gay. 
To  haunt,   to  startle,  and  way-lay. 
I  saw  her  upon  nearer  view, 
A  Spirit,  yet  a  Woman  too  ! 
Her  household  motions  light  and  free, 
And  steps  of  virgin  liberty  ; 
A  countenance  in  which  did  meet 
Sweet  records,  promises  as  sweet ; 
A  Creature  not  too  bright  or  good 
For  human  nature's  daily  food  ; 
For  transient  sorrows,  simple  wiles, 
Praise,  blame,  love,  kisses,  tears,  and 
smiles. 

And  now  I  see  with  eye  serene 
The  very  pulse  of  the  machine ; 
A  Being  breathing  thoughtful  breath, 
A  Traveller  between  life  and  death  : 
The  reason  firm,  the  temperate  will, 
Endurance,    foresight,    strength,    and 
skill ; 


Girlhood 


353 


A  perfect  Woman,  nobly  planned, 
To  warn,  to  comfort,  and  comnuui<l  ; 
And  yet  a  Spirit  still,  and  bright. 
With  something  of  angelic  light. 

William  Wordsworth. 


SHE  DWELT  AMONG  THE 
trNTRODDEN  WAYS. 

She  dwelt  among  the  yntrodden  wciya 
heside  the  springs  of  Dove, 

A  maid  whom  there  were  none  to  praise. 
And  very  few  to  love : 

A  violet  by  a  mossy  stone 
Half  hidden  from  the  eye  ! — ■ 

Fair  as  a  star,  when  only  one 
Is  shining  in  the  sky. 

She   lived    unknown,    and    few    could 
know 
When  Lucy  ceased  to  be : 
But  she  is  in  her  grave,  and,  oh  ! 
The  difference  to  me  ! 

William  Wordsworth. 


MATJD. 

Birds  in  the  high  Hall-garden 
When   twilight   was   falling, 

Maud,   Maud,   Maud,   Maud, 
They  were  crying  and  calling. 

Where  was  Maud  ?  in  our  wood  ; 

And  I,  who  else,  was  with  her. 
Gathering  woodland   lilies. 

Myriads  blow  together. 

Birds  in  our  woods  sang 

Kinging  thro'   the  valleys,  • 

.Maud  is  here,  here,  here. 
In  among  the  lilies. 

I  kiss'd  her  slender  hand. 
She  took  the  kiss  sedately ; 

Maud  is  not  seventeen. 

But  she  is  tall  and  stately. 

I  to  cry  out  on  pride 

Who  have  won  her  favour ; 
O  Maud  were  sure  of  Heaven 

If  lowliness  could  save  her. 


I  know  the  way  she  went 

Home  with  her  maiden  posy. 

For  her  feet  have  touch'd  the  meadows 
And  left  the  daisies  rosy. 

Birds  in  the  high  Hall-garden 
Were  crying  and  calling  to  her. 

Where  is  Maud,  Maud,  Maud  ? 
One  is  come  to  woo  her. 

Look,  a  horse  at  the  door, 

And  little  King  Charles  is  snarling, 
Go  back,  my  lord,  across  the  moor, 

You  are  not  her  darling. 

Lord  Tennyson. 


THE  SOLITARY  REAPER. 

Behold  her,  single  in  the  field. 
Yon  solitary  Highland  lass  ! 
Heaping  and  singing  by  herself ; 

Stop  here,  or  gently  pass  ! 
Alone  she  cuts,  and  binds  the  grain. 
And  sings  a  melancholy  strain  ; 

0  Usten  !  for  the  Vale  profound 
Is  overflowing  with  the  sound. 

No  nightingale  did  ever  chant 
More  welcome  notes  to  weary  bands 
Of  travellers  in  some  shady  haunt, 

Among  Arabian  sands : 
A  voice  so  thrilling  ne'er  was  heard, 
In  spring-time  from  the  Cuckoo-bird, 
Breaking  the  silence  of  the  seas, 
Amongst  the  farthest  Hebrides. 

Will  no  one  tell  me  what  she  sings  ! 
Perhaps  the  plaintive  numbers  flow 
For  old,  unhappy,  far-off  things. 

And  battles  long  ago  : 
Or  is  it  some  more  humble  lay, 
Familiar  matter  of  to-day  ? 
Some  natural  sorrow,  loss,  or  pain. 
That  has  been,  and  may  be  again  ! 

Whate'er  the  theme,  the  maiden  sang 
As  if  her  song  could  have  no  ending  : 

1  saw  her  singing  at  her  work. 
And  o'er  the  sickle  bending  ; — 

I  listened,  motionless  and  still ; 
And,  as  I  mounted  up  the  hill, 
The  music  in  my  heart  I  bore. 
Long  after  it  was  heard  no  more. 

WiUiam  Wordsworth 
23 


354 


Poems  for  Children. 


THE  MAY   QUEEN. 

You  must  wake  and  call  me  early,  call 

me  early,  mother  dear  ; 
To-morrow  'ill  be  the  happiest  time  of 

all  the  glad  New-year ; 
Of  all  the  glad  New-year,  mother,  the 

maddest  merriest  day  ; 
For    I'm    to    be    Queen    o'    the    May, 

mother,  I'm  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May. 

There's  many  a  black  black  eye,  they 

say,  but  none  so  bright  as  mine  ; 
There's    Margaret    and    Mary,    there's 

Kate  and  Caroline  : 
But  none  so  fair  as  little  Alice  in  all 

the  land  they  say, 
So  I'm  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May,  mother, 

I'm  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May. 

I  sleep  so  sound  all  night,  mother,  that 

I  shall  never  wake, 
If  you  do  not  call  me  loud  when  the 

day  begins  to  break  : 
But  I  must  gather  knots  of  flowers,  and 

buds  and  garlands  gay. 
For  I'm  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May,  mother, 

I'm  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May. 

As  I  came  up  the  valley  whom  thinli  ye 
should  I  see. 

But  Robin  leaning  on  the  bridge  be- 
neath the  hazel-tree  ? 

He  thought  of  that  sharp  look,  mother, 
I  gave  him  yesterday — 

But  I'm  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May, 
mother,  I'm  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May. 

He  thought  I  was  a  ghost,  mother,  for 

I  was  all  in  white. 
And  I  ran  by  him  without  speaking, 

like  a  flash  of  light. 
They  call  me  cruel-hearted,  but  I  care 

not  what  they  say. 
For    I'm    to    be    Queen    o'    the   May, 

mother,  I'm  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May. 

They  say  he's  dying  all  for  love,  but 

that  can  never  b?  : 
They  say  his  heart  is  "breaking,  mother 

— what  i^  that  to  me  ? 
There's  many  a  bolder  lad  'ill  woo  me 

any  summer  day, 
And    I'm    to    be    Queen    o'    the    May, 

mother,  I'm  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May. 


Little  Effie  shall  go  with  me  to-morrow 

to  the  green. 
And  you  will  be  there,  too,  mother,  to 

see  me  made  the  Queen  ; 
For  the  shepherd  lads  on  every  side 

■wiH.  come  from  far  away. 
And    I'm    to    be    Queen    o'    the    ]\Iay, 

mother,  I'm  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May. 

The  honeysuckle  round  the  porch  has 

wov'n  its  wavy  boMcre, 
And  by  the  meadow-trenches  blow  the 

faint  sweet  cuckoo-flowers  ; 
And   the   wild    marsh-marigold    shines 

like  fire  in  swamps  and  hollows  gra}% 
And    I'm    to    be    Queen    o'    the    May, 

mother,  I'm  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May, 

The  night  winds  come  and  go,  mother, 

upon  the  meadow-grass. 
And  the  happy  stars  above  them  seem 

to  brighten  as  they  pass  ; 
There  will  not  be  a  drop  of  rain  the 

whole  of  the  live-long  day. 
And    I'm   to    be    Queen   o'    the    May, 

mother,  I'm  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May. 

All  the  valley,   mother,  wiU  be  fresh 

and  green  and  still, 
And  the  cowslip  and  the  crowfoot  are 

over  all  the  hill. 
And  the  rivulet  in  the  flowery  dale  will 

merrily  glance  and  play. 
For    I'm    to    be    Queen    o'    the    May, 

mother,  I'm  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May. 

So  you  must  wake  and  call  nie  early, 

call  me  early,  mother  dear. 
To-morrow  'iU  be  the  happiest  time  of 

all  the  glad  New-year : 
To-morrow  'ill  be  of  all  the  year  the 

maddest  merriest  day. 
For    I'm    to    be    Queen    o'    the    May, 

mother,  I'm  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May. 
Lord  Tennyson. 


NEW-YEAB'S  EVE. 

If  you're  waking  call  me  early,  call  i  e 

early,  mother  dear. 
For  I  would  see  the  sun  rise  upon  the 

glad  New-year. 
It  is  the  last  New-year  that  I  shall  ever 

see. 
Then  you  may  lay  me  low  i'  the  mould 

and  think  no  more  of  me. 


Girlhood. 


355 


To-night  I  saw  the  sun  set :  he  set  and 

left  behind 
The  good  old  year,  the  dear  old  time, 

and  all  my  peace  of  mind : 
And  the  New-year's  coming  up,  mother, 

but  I  shall  never  see 
The   blossom   on  the  blackthorn,   the 

leaf  upon  the  tree. 


Last  May  we  made  a  crown  of  flowers  : 

we  had  a  merry  day  ; 
Beneath  the  hawthorn  on  the  green  they 

made  me  Queen  of  May  ; 
And   we  danced   about  the  may-pole 

and  in  the  hazel  copse. 
Till   Charles's   Wain   came   out  above 

the  tall  white  chimney-tops. 

There's  not  a  flower  on  all  the  hills  : 

the  frost  is  on  the  pane  : 
I  only  wish  to  live  till  the  snowdrops 

come  again : 
I  wish  the  snow  would  melt  and  the 

sun  come  out  on  high  : 
I  long  to  see  a  flower  so  before  the 

day  I  die. 

The   building   rook   'ill   caw   from   the 

windy   tall   elm-tree, 
And  the  tufted  plover  pipe  along  the 

fallow  lea. 
And  the  swallow  'ill  come  back  again 

with  summer  o'er  the  wave. 
But  I  shall  lie  alone,  mother,   witliin 

the  mouldering  grave. 


Upon  the  chancel-casement,  and  upon 

that  grave  of  mine. 
In  the  early  early  morning  the  summer 

sun  will  shine. 
Before   the   red   cock   crows   from  the 

'arm  upon  the  hill, 
Wlien   you   are   warm-asleep,    mother, 

and  aU  the  world  is  still. 


When  the  flowers  come  attain,  mother, 

beneath  the  waning  light. 
You'll  never  see  me  more  in  the  long 

gray  fields  at  night ; 
When   from    the    dry    dark    wold    the 

summer  airs  blow  cool 
On  the  oat-gFass  and  the  sword-grass, 

and  the  bulrush  in  the  pool. 


You'll  bury  me,  my  mother,  just  be- 
neath the  hawthorn  shade. 

And  you'll  come  sometimes  and  see 
me  where  I  am  lowly  laid. 

I  shall  not  forget  you,  motlier,  I  shall 
liear  you  when  you  pass. 

With  your  feet  above  my  licad  in  (lie 
long  and  pleasant  grass. 

I  have  been  wild  and  wayward,   but 

you'll  forgive  me  now  ; 
You'll  kiss  me,  my  own  mother,  and 

forgive  me  ere  I  go  ; 
Nay,  nay,  you  must  not  weep,  nor  let 

your  grief  be  wild. 
You  should  not  fret  for  me,  mother, 

you  have  another  child. 

If  I  can  I'll  come  again,  mother,  from 

out  my  resting-place  ; 
Though  you'll  not  see  me,  mother,   I 

shall  look  upon  your  face  ; 
Though  I  cannot  speak  a  word,  I  shall 

hearlvcn  what  you  saj^ 
And   be  often,   often  with  you,   when 

you  think  I'm  far  away. 

Good-night,  good-night,   when  I  have 

said  good-night  for  evermore, 
And  you  see  me  carried  out  from  the 

threshold  of  the  door  ; 
Don't  let  Effie  come  to  see  me  till  my 

grave  be  growing  green  : 
She'll  be  a  better  child  to  you  than  ever 

I  have  been. 

She'll  find  my  garden-tools  upon  the 

granary  floor : 
Let  her  take  'em  :   they  are    hers  :   I 

shall  never  garden  more  : 
But  tell  her,  when  I'm  gone,  to  train 

the  rose-bush  that  I  set, 
About  the  parlour  window  and  the  box 

of  mignonette. 

Good-night,    sweet   mother ;     call    me 

before  the  day  is  born. 
All  night  I  lie  awake,  but  I  fall  asleep 

at  morn  ; 
But  I  would  see  the  sun  rise  upon  tlu" 

glad  New-year, 
So,  if  you're  waking,  call  me,  call  me 

early,  mother  dear. 

Lord  Tenni/finn. 

23*" 


356 


Poems  for  Children. 


C0NCLT7SI01T     TO     THE     MAY 

QUEEN  AND  NEW  YEAR'S 

EVE. 

I  THOUGHT  to  pass  away  before,  and 
yet  alive  I  am  ; 

And  in  the  fields  all  round  I  hear  the 
bleating  of  the  lamb. 

How  sadly,  I  remember,  rose  the  morn- 
ing of  the  year  ! 

To  die  before  the  snow-drop  came,  and 
now  the  violet's  here. 

O  sweet  is  the  new  violet,  that  comes 

beneath  the  skies. 
And  sweeter  is  the  young  lamb's  voice 

to  me  that  cannot  rise, 
And  sweet  is  aU  the  land  about,  and  all 

the  flowers  that  blow. 
And  sweeter  far  is  death  than  life  to 

me  that  long  to  go 

It  seemed  so  hard  at  first,  mother,  to 

leave  the  blessed  sim. 
And  now  it  seems  as  hard  to  stay,  and 

yet  His  will  be  done  ! 
But  still  I  think  it  can't  be  long  before 

I  find  release : 
And  that  good  man,   the  clergyman, 

has  told  me  words  of  peace. 

O,  blessings  on  his  kindly  voice,  and 

on  his  silver  hair  ! 
And  blessings  on  his  whole  life  long, 

until  he  meet  me  there  ! 
0,  blessings  on  his  kindly  heart,  and 

on  his  silver  head  ! 
A  thousand  times  I  blest  him,  as  he 

knelt  beside  my  bed. 

He  taught  me  all  the  mercy,  for  he 

showed  me  all  the  sin. 
Now,  though  my  lamp  was  lighted  late, 

there's  One  will  let  me  in  : 
Nor  would  I  now  be  well,  mother,  again 

if  that  could  be. 
For  my  desire  is  but  to  pass  to  Him 

that  died  for  me. 

I  did  not  hear  the  dog  howl,  mother,  or 

the  dead-watch  beat. 
There  came  a  sweeter  token  when  the 

night  and  morning  meet : 
But  sit  beside  my  bed,  mother,  and  put 

your  hand  in  mine. 
And  Effie  on  the  other  side,  and  I  will 

tell  the  sign. 


All  in  the  wild  March-morning  I  heard 

the  angels  call ; 
It  was  when  the  moon  was  setting,  and 

the  dark  was  over  all ; 
The  trees  began  to  whisper,  and  the 

wind  began  to  roll. 
And    in    the    wild    March-morning    I 

heard  them  call  my  souk 

For,  lying  broad  awake,  I  thought  of 

you  and  Efiie  dear  ; 
I  saw  you  sitting  in  the  house,  and  I 

no  longer  here  ; 
With   aU   my   strength   I   prayed   for 

both,  and  so  I  felt  resigned. 
And   up   the   valley  came   a  swell  of 

music  on  the  wind. 

I  thought  that  it  was  fancy,  and  I  lis- 
tened in  my  bed. 

And  then  did  something  speak  to  me — 
I  know  not  what  was  said  ; 

For  great  delight  and  shuddering  took 
hold  of  all  my  mind. 

And  up  the  vaUey  came  again  the 
music  on  the  wind. 

But  you  were  sleeping ;    and  I  said, 

"  It's  not  for  them,  it's  mine  ;  " 
And  if  it  comes  three  times,  I  thought, 

I  take  it  for  a  sign. 
And   once   again   it   came,    and   close 

beside  the  window-bars. 
Then  seemed  to  go  right  up  to  Heaven 

and  die  among  the  stars. 

So  now  I  think  my  time  is  near.     I 

trust  it  is,  I  know 
The  blessed  music  went  that  way  my 

soul  will  have  to  go. 
And  for  myself,  indeed,  I  care  not  if 

1  go  to-day. 
But,  Effie,  you  must  comfort  her  when 

I  am  past  away. 

And  say  to  Robin  a  kind  word,  and 

tell  him  not  to  fret ; 
There's  many  worthier  than  I,  would 

make  him  happy  yet. 
If  I  had  lived— I  cannot  tell— I  might 

have  been  his  wife ; 
But  all  these  things  have  ceased  to  be, 

with  my  desire  of  life. 

O  look !  the  sun  begins  to  rise,  the 

heavens  are  in  a  glow  ; 
He  shines  upon  a  hundred  fields,  and 

all  of  them  I  know ; 


Girlhood. 


357 


And  there  I  move  no  longer  now,  and 
there  his  light  may  shine — 

Wild  flowers  in  the  valley  for  other 
hands  than  mine. 

0,  sweet  and  strange  it  seems  to  me, 

that  ere  this  day  is  done 
The  voice,  that  now  is  spealdng,  may 

be  beyond  the  sun — 
For  ever  and  for  ever  with  those  just 

souls  and  true — 
And  what  is  life,  that  we  should  moan  f 

why  make  we  such  ado  ? 

For  ever  and  for  ever,  all  in  a  b'essed 

home — 
And   there   to  wait   a  little  while  till 

you  and  Effie  come — 
To  be  within  the  light  of  Go:l,  as  I  lie 

upon  j'our  breast — 
An<l  iho  wicked  cease  from  troubling, 

and  tlie  weary  are  at  rest. 

Lord  Tennyson. 


HESTER. 

When  maidens  such  as  Hester  die. 
Their  place  ye  may  not  well  supply, 
Though  ye  among  a  thousand  try. 
With  vain  endeavour. 

A  month  or  more  hath  she  been  dead. 
Yet  cannot  I  by  force  be  led 
To  think  upon  the  wormy  bed. 
And  her  together. 

A  springy  motion  in  her  gait, 
A  rising  step  did  indicate 
Of  pride  and  joy  no  common  rate. 
That  flush' d  her  spirit. 

I  know  not  by  what  name  beside 
I  shall  it  call : — if  'twas  not  pride. 
It  was  a  joy  to  that  allied. 
She  did  inherit. 

Her  parents  held  the  Quaker  rule. 
Which  doth  the  human  feeling  cool. 
But  she  was  train'd  in  Nature's  school. 
Nature  had  blest  her. 

A  waking  eye,  a  prying  mind, 
A  heart  that  stirs,  is  hard  to  bind, 
A  hawk's  keen  sight  ye  cannot  blind. 
Ye  could  not  Hester. 


My  sprightly  neighbour,  gone  before 
To  that  unknown  and  silent  shore. 
Shall  we  not  meet  as  heretofore. 
Some  summer  morning, 

When  from  thy  cheerful  eyes  a  ray 
Pfath  struck  a  bliss  upon  the  day, 
A  bliss  that  would  not  go  away, 
A  sweet  forewarning  ? 

Cliarlea  Lamb. 


A  POBTBAIT. 

I  wiu.  paint  her  as  I  see  her : 
Ten  times  have  the  lilies  blown. 
Since  she  looked  upon  the  sun. 

And  her  face  is  lily-clear — 
Lily-shaped,  and  drooped  in  duty 
To  the  law  of  its  own  beauty. 

Oral  cheeks  encolored  faintly. 
Which  a  trail  of  golden  hair 
Keeps  from  fading  off  to  air : 

And  a  forehead  fair  and  saintly. 
Which  two  blue  eyes  undershine. 
Like  meek  prayers  before  a  shrine. 

Face  and  figure  of  a  child — 
Though  too  calm,  you  think,  and  tender, 
For  the  childhood  you  would  lend  her. 

Yet  child — simple,  undefiled, 
Frank,  obedient — waiting  still 
On  the  turnings  of  your  wilL 

Moving  light,  as  all  young  things — 
As  young  birds,  or  early  wheat 
When  the  wind  blows  over  it. 

Only  free  from  flutterings 

Of  loud  mirth  that  scorneth  measure — 

Taking  love  for  her  chief  pleasure. 

Choosing  pleasures  (for  the  rest) 
Which  come  softly — just  as  she, 
When  she  nestles  at  your  knee. 

Quiet  talk  she  likest  best, 
In  a  bower  of  gentle  looks — 
Watering  flowers,  or  reading  books. 


358 


Poems   for  Children. 


And  her  voice,  it  murmurs  low  13% 
As  a  silver  stream  may  run, 
Wliioli  yet  feels,  you  "feel,  the  sun. 

And  her  smile,  it  seems  half  holy, 
As  if  drawn  from  thoughts  more  fair 
Than  our  common  jestings  are. 

And  if  any  poet  knew  her, 

He  would  sing  of  her  with  falls 

Used  in  lovely  madrigals. 

And  if  any  painter  drew  her. 
He  would  paint  her  iinaware 
With  a  halo  round  her  hair. 

And  if  reader  read  the  poem. 

He  would  whisper,  "  You  have  done  a 

Consecrated  little  Una  !  " 

And  a  dreamer  (did  you  show  him 
That  same  picture)  would  exclaim, 
"  'Tis  my  angel,  with  a  name  !  " 

And  a  stranger — when  he  sees  her 
In  the  street  even — smileth  stilly, 
Just  as  you  would  at  a  lily. 

And  all  voices  that  address  her. 
Soften,  sleeken  every  word. 
As  if  speaking  to  a  bird. 

And  all  fancies  yearn  to  cover 

The  hard  earth  whereon  she  passes 

With  the  thymy  scented  grasses. 

And  all   hearts  do   pray,    "  God   love 

her  !  " 
Ay,  and  always,  in  good  sooth, 
We  may  all  be  sure  He  doth. 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. 


THE  SANDS  OF  DEE. 
"  O  Mary,  go  and  call  the  cattle  home. 
And  call  the  cattle  home. 
And  call  the  cattle  home, 
Across  the  sands  of  Dee  !  " 
The  western  wind  was  wild  and  dank 
with  foam. 
And  all  alone  went  she. 

The  western  tide  came  up  along  the 
sand. 
And  o'er  and  o'er  the  sand. 


And  round  and  round  the  sand, 
As  far  as  eye  could  see  ; 
The  rolling  mist  came  down  and  hid  the 
land. 
And  never  home  came  she. 

Oh  !  is  it  weed,  or  fish,  or  floating  hair 

A  tress  of  golden  hair. 

Of  drowned  maiden's  hair 

Above  the  nets  at  sea  ? 
Was  never  salmon  yet  that  shone  so  fair 

Among  the  stakes  at  Dee  ! 

They  rowed  her  in  across  the  rolling 
foam. 
The  cruel,  crawling  foam, 
The  cruel,  hungry  foam. 
To  her  grave  beside  the  sea : 
But  still  the  boatmen  hear  her  call  the 
cattle  home 
Across  the  sands  of  Dee. 

Charles  Kingsley. 


liADY  CLABE. 

It  was  the  time  when  lilies  blow, 
And  clouds  are  highest  up  in  air. 

Lord  Ronald  brought  a  lily-white  doe 
To  give  his  cousin.  Lady  Clare. 

I  trow  they  did  not  part  in  scorn  ; 

Lovers  long  betroth'd  were  they ; 
They  two  will  wed  the  morrow  morn ; 

God's  blessing  on  the  day  ! 

"  He  does  not  love  me  for  my  birth. 
Nor  for  my  lands  so  broad  and  fair ; 

He  loves  me  for  my  own  true  worth. 
And  that  is  well,"  said  Lady  Clare. 

In  there  came  old  Alice  the  nurse. 
Said,  "  Who  was  this  that  went  from 
thee  ?  " 

"  It  was  my  cousin,"  said  Lady  Clare, 
"  To-morrow  he  weds  with  me." 

"  O  God  be  thank'd  !  "  said  AUce  the 
nurse, 
"  That  all  comes  round  so  just  and 
fair : 
Lord  Ronald  is  heir  of  all  your  lands. 
And  you  are  not  the  Lady  Clare." 


Girlhood. 


359 


"  Are  ye  out  of  your  mind,  my  nurse, 

my  nurse," 

Said  Lady  Clare,  "  that  ye  speak  so 

wild  ?  " 

"  As  God's  above,"  said  Alice  the  nurse, 

"Ispeak  the  truth  :  you  are  my  child. 

"  The  old  Earl's  daughter  died  at  my 
breast ; 

I  speak  the  truth,  as  I  live  by  bread  ! 
I  buried  her  like  my  own  sweet  child. 

And  put  my  child  in  her  stead." 

"  Falsely,  falsely  have  ye  done, 

O  mother,"  she  said,  "  if  this  be  true. 

To  keep  the  best  man  under  the  sun 
So  many  years  from  his  due." 

"  Nay  now,  my  child,"  said  Alice  the 
nurse, 

"  But  keep  the  secret  for  your  life. 
And  all  you  have  will  be  Lord  Ronald's, 

When  you  are  man  and  wife." 

"  If  I'm  a  beggar  bom,"  she  said, 
"  I  will  speak  out,  for  I  dare  not  lie. 

Pull  off,  pull  off,  the  brooch  of  gold. 
And  fling  the  diamond  necklace  by." 

"  Nay  now,  my  child,"  said  Alice  the 
nurse. 

"  But  keep  the  secret  all  ye  can." 
She  said  "  Not  so  :  but  I  will  know 

If  there  be  any  faith  in  man." 

"  Nay  now,  what  faith  ?  "  said  Alice  the 
nurse, 
"  The  man  will  cleave  unto  his  right." 
"  And    he    shall    have    it,"    the    lady 
rephed, 
"  Tho'  I  should  die  to-night." 


The  lily-white  doe  Lord  Ronald   had 
brought 

Leapt  up  from  where  she  lay, 
Dropt  her  head  in  the  maiden's  hand, 

And  follow'd  her  all  the  way. 

Down    stept    Lord    Ronald    from    his 

tower, 

"  O   Lady   Clare,   you   shame   your 

worth  ! 

Why  come  you  drest  like  a  village  maid, 

That  are  the  ifower  of  the  earth  ?  " 

"  If  I  come  drest  like  a  village  maid, 
I  am  but  as  my  fortunes  are : 

I  am  a  beggar  born,"  she  said, 
"  And  not  the  Lady  Clare." 

"  Play  me  no  tricks,"  said  Lord  Ronald, 
"  For  I  am  yours  in  words  and  in  deed. 

Play  me  no  tricks,"  said  Lord  Ronald, 
"  Your  riddle  is  hard  to  read." 

O  and  proudly  stood  she  up  ! 

Her  heart  Avithin  her  did  not  fail : 
She  look'd  into  Lord  Ronald's  eyes, 

And  told  him  all  her  nurse's  tale. 

He  laugh'd  a  laugh  of  merry  scorn  : 
He  turn'd  and  kiss'd  her  where  she 
stood 

"  If  you  are  not  the  heiress  bom. 
And  I,"  said  he,  "  the  next  in  blood — 

"  If  you  are  not  the  heiress  bom. 
And  I,"  said  he,   "  the  lawful  heir. 

We  two  will  wed  to-morrow  morn. 
And  you  shall  still  be  Lady  Clare." 

Lord  Tennyson. 


"  Yet  give  one  kiss  to  your  mother  dear  ! 

Alas  !  my  child,  I  sinn'd  for  thee." 
"  O  mother,  mother,  mother,"  she  said, 

"  So  strange  it  seems  to  me. 

"  Yet  here's  a  kiss  for  my  mother  dear. 
My  mother  dear,  if  this  be  so. 

And  lay  your  hand  upon  my  head. 
And  bless  me,  mother,  ere  I  go." 

She  clad  herself  in  a  russet  gown. 
She  was  no  longer  Lady  Clare  : 

She  went  by  dale,  and  she  went  by 
down, 
^Vith  a  single  rose  in  her  hair. 


PHOXTD  SCAISIEI 

Pboud  Maisie  is  in  the  wood. 

Walking  so  early  ; 
Sweet  Robin  sits  on  the  bush 

Singing  so  rarely. 

*'  Tell  me,  thou  bonny  bird. 
When  shall  I  marry  me  ?  " 

"  When  six  braw  gentlemen 
Kirkward  shall  carry  ye. 

"  Who  makes  the  bridal  bed 
Birdie,  say  truly  ?  " 


360 


Poems  for  Children. 


"  The  grey-headed  sexton 
That  delves  the  grave  duly. 

"  The  glow-worm  o'er  grave  and  stone 

Shall  hght  thee  steady  ; 
The  owl  from  the  steeple  sing 

Welcome,  proud  lady." 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 


MY  PEGGY. 

My  Peggy  is  a  yoimg  thing. 
Just  entered  in  her  teens. 

Fair  as  the  day,  and  always  gay. 

My  Peggy  is  a  young  thing, 
And  I'm  not  very  auld. 

Yet  well  I  like  to  meet  her  at 
The  wauking  of  the  fauld. 


ANNABEIiliE  liEB. 

It  was  many  and  many  a  year  ago,  * 

In  a  kingdom  by  the  sea, 
That  a  maiden  there  Uved  whom  you 
may  know 
By  the  name  of  Annabelle  Lee  ; 
And  this  maiden  she  hved  with  no  other 
thought. 
Than  to  love  and  be  loved  by  me. 

I  was  a  child,  and  she  was  a  child. 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea  ; 
But  we  loved  with  a  love  that  was  more 
than  love, 
I  and  my  AjinabeUe  Lee  : 
With  a  love  that  the  winged  seraphs  of 
heaven 
Coveted  her  and  me. 

And  this  was  the  reason  that  long  ago. 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea, 
A  wind  blew  out  of  a  cloud,  chilling 

My  beautiful  Annabelle  Lee, 
So  that  her  high-born  kinsman  came. 

And  bore  her  away  from  me. 
To  shut  her  up  in  a  sepulchre. 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea. 


But    the    moon  never  beams  without 
bringing  me  dreams 
Of  the  beautiful  Annabelle  Lee  ; 
And  the  stars  never  rise  but  I  feel  the 
bright  e3'e3 
Of  the  beautiful  Annabelle  Lee  ; 
And  so,  all  the  night-tide,  I  lie  down 

by  the  side 
Of  my  darling — my  darling — my  life 
and  my  bride. 
In  the  sepulchre  there  by  the  sea. 
In  the  tomb  by  the  sounding  sea. 

Edgar  Allan  Poe. 


My  Peggy  sings  sae  saftly. 

When  on  my  pipe  I  play ; 

By  a'  the  rest  it  is  confest. 

By  a'  the  rest,  that  she  sings  best. 

My  Peggy  sings  sae  saftly. 

And  in  her  sangs  are  tauld. 
With  innocence,  the  wale  of  sense. 

At  wauking  of  the  fauld. 

Allan  Ramsay, 


THE  BEVERIE  OF  POOR 

SUSAN. 

At  the  corner  of  Wood  Street,  when 

daylight  appears, 
Hangs  a  Thrush  that  sings  loud — it  has 

sung  for  three  years  ; 
Poor  Susan  has  passed   by  the  spot, 

and  has  heard 
In  the  silence  of  morning  the  song  of 

the  Bird. 

'Tis  a  note  of  enchantment :  what  ails 

her  ?     She  sees 
A    mountain    ascending,    a    vision    of 

trees ; 
Bright    volumes    of    vapour    through 

Lothbury  ghde. 
And  a  river  flows  on  through  the  vale 

of  Cheapside. 

Green  pastures  she  views  in  the  midst 

of  the  dale, 
Down  which  she  so  often  has  tripped 

with  her  pail ; 
And  a  single  small  cottage,  a  nest  hke 

a  dove's. 
The  one  only  dwelling  on  earth  that 

she  loves. 

She  looks,  and  her  heart  is  in  heaven : 

but  they  fade, 
The  mist  and  the  river,  the  hill  and 

the  shade ; 


Girlhood. 


3(il 


The  stream  will  not  flow,  and  the  hill 

will  not  rise. 
And  the  colours  have  all  passed  away 

from  her  eyes  ! 

William  Wordsworth. 


"  Sure,"  I  said,  "  Hcav'n  did  not  mean 
Where  I  reap  thou  shouldst  but  glean  ; 
Lay  thy  sheaf  adown  and  come. 
Share  my  harvest  and  my  home." 

Thomas  Hood 


\     THE  TJGIiY  PRINCESS. 

My  parents  bow,  and  lead  me  forth. 

For  all  the  crowd  to  see — 
Ah,  well !  the  peoi)le  might  not  care 

To  cheer  a  dwarf  Uke  me. 

They  Uttle  know  how  I  could  love, 
How  I  could  plan  and  toil. 

To  swell  those  drudges'  scanty  gains. 
Their  mites  of  rye  and  oil. 

They  httle  know  what  dreams  have  been 
My  playmates,  night  and  day  ; 

Of  equal  kindness,  helpful  care, 
A  mother's  perfect  sway. 

Now  earth  to  earth  in  convents  walls. 
To  earth  in  churchyard  sod : 

I  was  not  good  enough  for  man, 
And  so  am  given  to  God. 

Charles  Kiiujdcy. 


BTJTH. 

Shb  stood  breast-high  amid  the  corn, 
Clasp'd  by  the  golden  light  of  morn. 
Like  the  sweetheart  of  the  sun. 
Who  many  a  glowing  kiss  had  won. 

On  her  cheek  an  autumn  flush, 
Deeply  ripen'd  :    such  a  blush 
In  the  midst  of  brown  was  born. 
Like  red  poppies  grown  with  corn. 

Round  her  eyes  her  tresses  fell. 
Which  were  blackest  none  could  tell. 
But  long  lashes  veil'd  a  light 
That  had  else  been  all  too  bright. 

And  her  hat,  with  shady  brim, 
Made  her  tressy  forehead  dim  ; 
Thus  she  stood  amid  the  stooks. 
Praising  God  with  sweetest  looks. 


NO,  THANK  YOIT,  TOM. 

They  met,  when  they  were  girl  and  boy. 

Going  to  school  one  day. 
And,   "  Won't  you  take  my  peg-top, 
dear  ?  " 

Was  all  that  he  could  say. 
She  bit  her  httle  pinafore. 

Close  to  his  side  she  came  ; 
She  whispered,  "  No  I  no,  thank  you, 
Tom," 

But  took  it  all  the  same. 

They  met  one  day,  the  self-same  way, 

When  ten  swift  years  had  flown  ; 
He  said,  "  I've  nothing  but  my  heart. 

But  that  is  yours  alone. 
And  won't  you  take  my  heart  ?  "  he 
said. 

And  called  her  by  her  name  ; 
She   blushed,   and   said,    "  No,   thank 
you,  Tom," 

But  took  it  all  the  same. 

And  twenty,  thirty,  forty  years 

Have  brought  them  care  and  joy ; 
She  has  the  httle  peg-top  still 

He  gave  her  when  a  boy. 
"  I've  had  no  wealth,  sweet  wife,"  said 
he; 

"  I've  never  brought  you  fame  "  ; 
She  whispers,   "  No  !  no,  thank  you, 
Tom, 

You've  loved  me  all  the  same." 

Fred.  E.   Weatherly. 


liTJCY. 

Three    years    she    grew    in    sun    and 

shower  ; 
Then  Nature  said,   "  A  lovelier  Hower 
On  earth  was  never  sown  : 
This  child  I  to  myself  will  take  ; 
She  shall  be  mine,  and  I  will  make 
A  lady  of  my  own. 


362 


Poems  for  Children. 


"Myself  wilt  to  my  darling  be 

Both  law  and  impulse  :    and  with  me 

The  girl  in  rock  and  plain, 

In  earth  and  heaven,  in  glade  and  bower. 

Shall  feel  an  overseeing  power 

To  kindle  or  restrain. 

"  She  shall  be  sportive  as  the  fawn 
That,  wild  with  glee,  across  the  lawn 
Or  up  the  mountain  springs  ; 
And  hers  shall  be  the  healing  balm. 
And  hers  the  silence  and  the  calm 
Of  mute  insensate  things. 

"  The  floating  clouds  their  state  shall 

lend 
To  her  :    for  her  the  willow  bend  ; 
Nor  shall  she  fail  to  see 
E'en  in  the  motions  of  the  storm 
Grace  that  shall  mould  the  maiden's 

form 
By  silent  sympathy. 

"  The  stars  of  midnight  shall  be  dear 
To  her ;    and  she  shall  lean  her  ear 
In  many  a  secret  place 
Where  rivulets   dance   their   wayward 

round. 
And  beauty  born  of  murmuring  sound 
Shall  pass  into  her  face. 

"  And  vital  feelings  of  delight 

Shall  rear  her  form  to  stately  height. 

Her  virgin  bosom  swell ; 

Such  thoughts  to  Lucy  I  will  give 

While  she  and  I  together  hve 

Here  in  this  happy  dell." 

Thus    Nature    spake — the    work    was 

done — 
How  soon  my  Lucy's  race  was  run  ! 
She  died  and  left  to  me 
Tliis  heath,  this  calm  and  quiet  scene  ; 
The  memory  of  what  has  been, 
And  nevermore  will  be. 

William   Wordsworth. 


CHIiOE. 

It  was  the  charming  month  of  May, 
When  all  the  flowers  were  fresh  and  gay 
One  morning  by  the  break  of  day, 
The  youthful,  charming  Chloe 


From  peaceful  slumbers  she  arose. 

Girt  on  her  mantle  and  her  hose. 

And  o'er  her  flowery  mead  she  goes. 

The  youthful,  charming  Chloe. 

Lovely  was  she  by  the  dawn, 

Youthful  Chloe,  charming  Chloe, 
Tripping  o'er  the  pearly  lawn. 
The  youthful,  charming  Chloe. 

The  feathered  people  you  might  see, 
Perch'd  all  around  on  every  tree. 
In  notes  of  sweetest  melody 

They  hail  the  charming  Chloe  ; 
Till  painting  gay  the  eastern  skies. 
The  glorious  sun  begins  to  rise, 
Outrivall'd  by  the  radiant  eyes 

Of  youthful,  charming  Chloe. 

Lovely  was  she  by  the  dawn. 
Youthful  Chloe,  charming  Chloe, 

Tripping  o'er  the  pearly  lawn. 
The  youthful,  charming  Chloe. 

Robert  Burns. 


MY  NANNIES  AW  A'. 

Now  in  her  green  mantle  blythe  Nature 

arrays. 
An'    hstens   the   lambkins   that   bleat 

o'er  the  braes  ; 
While    birds    warble    welcome   in   ilka 

green  shaw ; 
But  to  me  it's  dehghtless — my  Nannie's 

aw  a'. 

The  snaw-drap  an'  primrose  our  wood- 
lands adorn, 

An'  violets  bathe  in  the  weet  o'  the 
morn  ; 

They  pain  my  sad  bosom,  sae  sweetly 
they  blaw. 

They  mind  me  o'  Nannie — an  Nannie's 
awa'. 

Thou  lav'rock  that  springs  frae  the 
dews  of  the  lawn. 

The  shepherd  to  warn  o'  the  gray- 
breaking   dawn. 

An'  thou  mellow  mavis  that  hails  the 
night- fa', 

Give  over  for  pity — my  Nannie's  awa'. 

Come,  autumn,  sae  pensive,  in  yellow 
an'  gray, 


Girlhood. 


363 


/^n'  soothe  me  wi'  tidings  o'  Nature's 
decay  ; 

The    dark,    dreary    winter,    an'    wild- 
driving  snaw, 

Alane  can  dehght  me — now  Nannie's 
awa'. 

Robert  Burns. 


Oo,  thou  sweet  one,  all  day  long. 
Like  a  glad  bird  pour  thy  song  ; 
And  let  thy  young,  graceful  head. 
Be  with  sea-flowers  garlanded  ; 
For  all  outward  signs  of  glee. 
Well  befit  thee,  Marien  Lee  ! 

Mary  Howitt. 


I  LOVE  MY  JEAN. 
Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw, 

I  dearly  like  the  west. 
For  there  the  bonnie  lassie  lives. 

The  lassie  I  lo'e  best ; 
There  wild  woods  grow,  and  rivers  row. 

And  nionie  a  hill  between  ; 
But  day  and  night  my  fancy's  flight 

Is  ever  wi'  my  Jean. 

I  see  her  in  the  dewy  flowers, 

I  see  her  sweet  and  fair ; 
I  hear  her  in  the  tunefu'  birds, 

I  hear  her  charm  the  air  : 
There's    not    a    bonnier    flower    that 
springs 

By  fountain  shaw  or  green  ; 
There's  not  a  bonnie  bird  that  sings, 

But  minds  me  o'   my  Jean. 

Robert  Bicrns. 


MARIEN  liEE. 

Not  a  care  hath  Marien  Lee, 
Dwelling  by  the  sounding  sea ! 
Her  young  life's  a  flowery  way  :  — 
Without  toil  from  day  to  day. 
Without   bodings   for   the   morrow - 
Marien  was  not  made  for  sorrow  I 
Like  the  summer-billows  wild, 
liCaps  the  happy-hearted  child  ; 
Sees  her  father's  fishing- boat 
O'er  the  waters  gaily  float ; 
Hears  her  brother's  fishing-song 
On  the  fight  gale  borne  along  ; 
Half  a  league  she  hears  the  lay, 
Ere  they  turn  into  the  bay. 
And  with  glee,  o'er  cliff  and  main, 
Sings  an  answer  back  again. 
Which  by  man  and  Ijoy  is  heard. 
Like  the  carol  of  a  bird. 
Look,  she  sitteth  laughing  there. 
Wreathing  sea- weed  in  her  hair ; 
Haw  ye  e'er  a  thing  so  fair  ? 


MAHIANA. 

"  Mariana  in  tlie  raoateii  grani,'e." 

—Meusurefor  Measure. 

With  blackest  moss  the  flower-plots 
Were  thickly  crusted,  one  and  all  ; 
The  rusted  nails  fell  from  the  knots 
That  held  the  peach  to  the  garden- 
wall. 
The    broken    sheds    look'd    sad    and 
strange  : 
Unlifted  was  the  clinking  latch  ; 
Weeded  and  worn  the  ancient  thatch ; 
Upon   the   lonely   moated  grang?;. 
She  only  said,  "  My  life  is  dreary. 

He  Cometh  not,"  she  said  ; 

She  said,  "  I  am  aweary,  aweary, 

I  would  that  I  were  dead  !  " 

Her  tears  fell  with  the  dews  at  even  ; 
Her  tears  fell  ere  the  dews  Avere  dried  ; 
She  could  not  look  on  the  sweet  heaven. 

Either  at  morn  or  eventide. 
After  the  flitting  of  the  bats, 

When  thickest  dark  did  trance  the 

sky. 
She  drew  her  casement  curtain  by, 
And  glanced  athwart  the  glooming  flats. 
She  only  said,  "The  night  is  dreary. 

He  cometh  not,"  she  said  ; 

She  said,  "  I  am  aweary,  aweary, 

I  would  that  I  were  dead  !  " 

Upon  the  middle  of  the  night. 

Waking    she    heard    the    night- fowl 
crow  ; 
The  cock  sung  out  an  hour  ere  light : 

From  the  dark  fen  the  oxen's  low- 
Came  to  her  :  without  hope  of  change. 
In  sleep  she  seem'd  to  walk  forlorn. 
Till  cold  winds  woke  the  grey-eyed 
morn. 
About  the  lonely  moated  grange. 
She  only  said,  "  The  day  is  dreary. 

He  cometh  not,"  she  said  ; 
She  said,  "  I  am  aweary,  aweary, 
I  would  that  I  were  dead  1  " 


864 


Poems  for  Children. 


About  a  stone-cast  from  the  wall 

A  sluice  with  blacken'd  waters  slept. 
And  o'er  it  many,  round  and  small, 

The  cluster'd  marish- mosses  crept. 
Hard  by  a  poplar  shook  alway. 

All  silver-green  with  gnarled  bark  ; 

For  leagues  no  other  tree  did  mark 
The  level  waste,  the  rounding  gray. 

She  only  said,  "  My  hfe  is  dreary. 
He  Cometh  not,"  she  said  ; 

She  said,  "  I  am  aweary,  aweary, 
I  would  that  I  were  dead  1  " 

And  ever  when  the  moon  was  low, 
And  the  shrill  winds  were  up  and 
away. 
In  the  white  curtain,  to  and  fro. 

She  saw  the  gusty  shadow  sway. 
But  when  the  moon  was  very  low. 
And  wild  winds  boimd  within  their 

cell. 
The  shadow  of  the  poplar  fell 
Upon  her  bed  across  her  brow. 

She  only  said,  "  The  night  is  dreary, 

He  Cometh  not,"  she  said  ; 
She  said,  "  I  am  aweary,  aweary, 
I  would  that  I  were  dead  !  " 

All  day  within  the  dreamy  house. 

The  doors  upon  their  hinges  creak'd  ; 
The  blue  fly  sung  on  the  pane ;    the 
mouse 
Behind     the     mouldering     wainscot 
shriek' d. 
Or  from  the  crevice  peer'd  about. 
Old  faces  ghmmer'd  thro'  the  doors. 
Old  footsteps  trod  the  upper  floors, 
Old  voices  called  her  from  without. 
She  only  said,  "  My  life  is  dreary. 

He  Cometh  not,"  she  said  ; 
She  said,  "  I  am  aweary,  aweary, 
I  would  that  I  were  dead  !  " 

The  sparrows  chirrup  on  the  roof, 

The  slow  clock  ticking,  and  the  sound 
Which  to  the  wooing  wind  aloft 
The  poplar  made,  did  all  confound 
Her  sense  ;  but  most  she  lo^th'd  the 

hour 

When  the  thick-moted  sunbeam  lay 

Athwart  the  chambers,  and  the  day 

Was  sloping  towards  his  western  bower. 

Then  said  she,  "  I  am  very  dreary. 

He  will  not  come,"  she  said  ; 
She  wept,  "  I  am  aweary,  aweary. 
Oh  God,  that  I  were  dead  !  " 

Tennyson. 


SHE  WALKS  IN  BEATJTY. 

She  walks  in  beauty,  hke  the  night 
Of  cloudless  chmes  and  starry  skies  : 

And  all  that's  best  of  dark  and  bright 
Meet  in  her  aspect  and  her  eyes  ; 

Thus  mellowed  to  that  tender  light 
Wliich  Heaven  to  gaudy  day  denies. 

One  shade  the  more,  one  ray  the  less 
Had    half    impaired    the    nameless 
grace. 
Which  waves  in  every  raven  tress. 

Or  softly  lightens  o'er  her  face  ; 
Where  thoughts  serenely  sweet  express, 
How  pure,  how  dear,  their  dweUing 
place. 

And  on  that  cheek,  and  o'er  that  brow. 
So  soft,  so  calm,  yet  eloquent, 

The   smiles   that   win,   the   tints  that 
glow. 
But  tell  of  days  in  goodness  spent, 

A  mind  at  peace  with  all  below, 
A  heart  whose  love  is  innocent. 

Lord  Byron. 


THE  NIGHT-PIECE. 

Her  eyes  the  glow-worm  lend  thee, 
The  shooting  stars  attend  thee  ; 
And  the  little  elves  also. 
Whose  httle  eyes  glow 
Like  the  sparks  of  fire,  befriend  thee. 

No  Will-o'-the-Wisp  misUght  thee. 
Nor  snake  or  slow- worm  bite  thee  ; 

But  on,  on  thy  way. 

Not  making  a  stay. 
Since  ghost  there's  none  to  affright  thee. 

Let  not  the  dark  thee  cumber  ; 

What  though  the  moon  does  slumber  ? 
The  stars  of  the  night 
Will  lend   thee  their  hght. 

Like  tapers  clear,  without  number. 

Then,  Julia,  let  me  woo  thee. 
Thus,  thus,  to  come  unto  me ; 

And  when  I  shall  meet 

Thy  silvery  feet. 
My  soul  I'll  pour  into  thee. 

Robert  Herrick. 


Girlhood. 


365 


I 


liOVE  AND  QliORT. 

Young  Henry  was  as  brave  a  youth 
As  ever  graced  a  gallant  story  ; 

And  Jane  was  fair  as  lovely  truth, 
She  sigh'd  for  Love,  and  he  for  Glory  ! 

With  her  liia  faith  he  meant  to  plight, 
And  told  her  many  a  gallant  story  ; 

Till  war,  their  coming  joys  to  blight, 
Call'd  him  away  from  Love  to  Glory  I 

Yoimg  Henry  met  the  foe  with  pride  ; 
Jane  followed,   fought !   ah,   hapless 
story  ! 
In  man's  attire,  by  Henry's  side. 
She  died  for  Love,  and  ho  for  Glory. 
Thomas  Dibdin. 


ON  THE  BIRTHDAY  OF  A 
YOUNG  LADY. 

FOUR   YEARS   OLD. 

Old  creeping  time,  with  silent  tread. 
Has  stol'n  four  years  o'er  Molly's  head : 
The  rosebud  opens  on  her  cheek. 
The  meaning  eyes  begin  to  speak ; 
And  in  each  smiling  look  is  seen 
The  innocence  which  plays  within. 
Nor  is  the  faltering  tongue  confined 
To  lisp  the  dawning  of  the  mind. 
But  firm  and  full  her  words  convey 
The  httle  all  they  have  to  say. 
And  each  fond  parent,  as  they  fall, 
Finds  volumes  in  that  httle  all. 

!May  every  charm  which  now  appears 
Increase  and  brighten  with  her  years  ! 
^\nd  may  that  same  old  creeping  time 
Go  on  till  she  has  reached  her  prime, 
Then,  like  a  master  of  his  trade, 
Stand  still,  nor  hurt  the  work  he  made. 
William  Wliitehead, 


JULIA. 

Some  asked  me  where  the  rubies  grew, 

And  nothing  did  I  say, 
But  with  my  tiugcr  ^winted  to 

The  lips  of  Julia. 

Some  asked  how  pearls  did  grow,  and 
where. 

Then  spake  I  to  my  girl. 
To  part  her  lips,  and  show  me  there 

The  quarelets  of  pearl. 

One  asked  me  where  the  roses  grew, 

I  bade  him  not  go  seek  ; 
But  forthwith  made  my  Julia  shew 

A  bud  on  either  cheek. 

Bobert  Herrick. 


A  PAREWELIj. 

My  fairest  child,  I  have  no  song  to  give 
you; 
No  lark  could  pipe  to  skies  so  dull 
and  grey  : 
Yet,  ere  we  part,  one  lesson  I  can  leave 
you 

For  every  day. 

Be  good,  sweet  maid,  and  let  who  will 
be  clever. 
Do  noble  things,  not  dream  them,  all 
day  long ; 
And  so  make  life,  death,  and  that  vast 
for- ever 

One  grand,  sweet  song. 

Charles  Kingsky. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


THE   PIPER. 
Piping  down  the  valleys  wild, 

Piping  songs  of  pleasant  glee. 
On  a  cloud  I  saw  a  child. 

And  he  laughing  said  to  me : 

"  Pipe  a  song  about  a  lamb." 
So  I  piped  with  merry  cheer. 

"  Piper,  pipe  that  song  again  "  ; 
So  I  piped  ;   he  wept  to  hear. 

"  Drop  thy  pipe,  thy  happy  pipe. 
Sing  thy  songs  of  happy  cheer  " 

So  I  sang  the  same  again. 

While  he  wept  with  joy  to  hear. 

"  Piper,  sit  thee  down  and  write 
In  a  book  that  all  may  read — " 

So  he  vanished  from  my  sight ; 
And  I  plucked  a  hollow  reed, 

And  I  made  a  rural  pen. 

And  I  stain'd  the  water  clear, 

And  I  wrote  my  happy  songs, 
Every  child  may  joy  to  hear. 

William  Blake. 


The  violets,  and  the  lily-cupg. 
Those  flowers  made  of  light ! 

The  lilacs,  where  the  robin  built, 
And  where  my  brother  set 

The  laburnum  on  his  birthday : 
The  tree  is  living  yet ! 

I  remember,  I  remember, 

Where  I  was  used  to  swing. 
And  thought  the  air  must  rush  as  fresh, 

To  swallows  on  the  wing. 
My  spirit  flew  in  feathers  then. 

That  is  so  heavy  now  ; 
And  summer  pools  could  hardly  cool 

The  fever  on  my  brow  | 

I  remember,  I  remember. 

The  fir-trees,  dark  and  high ; 
I  used  to  think  their  slender  tops 

Were  close  against  the  sky  : 
It  was  a  childish  ignorance : 

But  now,  'tis  little  joy 
To  know  I'm  further  off  from  heaven 

Than  when  I  was  a  boy. 

Thomas  Hood. 


I  BEMEMBEB. 
I  REMEMBER,  I  remember, 

The  house  where  I  was  born. 
The  little  window,  where  the  sun 

Came  peeping  in  at  morn  : 
He  never  came  a  wink  too  soon, 

Nor  brouglit  too  long  a  day, 
But  now  I  often  wish  the  night 

Had  borne  my  breath  away  | 

I  remember,  I  remember. 
The  roses,  red  and  white. 


THE  BOY  IN  THE  WILDER- 
NESS. 

Encinctured  with  a  twine  of  leaves, 

That  leafy  twine  his  onl}'  dress — 
A  lovely  boy  was  plucking  fruits. 

By  moonlight,  in  a  wilderness. 
The  moon  was  bright,  the  air  was  free. 

And  fruits  and  flowers  together  grew 
On  many  a  shrub  and  many  a  tree  ; 

And  all  put  on  a  gentle  liue, 
Hanging  in  the  shadowy  air 
Like  a  picture  rich  and  rare  ! 
It  was  a  climate  where,  they  say. 


Miscellaneous. 


367 


The  night  is  more  beloved  than  day. 
But  who  that  beauteous  boy  beguiled, 
That  beauteous  boy,  to  linger  here, 
Alone  by  night,  a  little  child. 
In  place  so  silent  and  so  wild  ? — 
Has  he  no  friend,   no  loving  mother 
near  7 

S.  T.  Coleridge. 


MY  LOST  YOUTH. 

Often  I  think  of  the  beautiful  town 

That  is  seated  by  the  sea  ; 
Often  in  thought  go  up  and  down 
The  pleasant  streets  of  that  dear  old 
town. 
And  my  youth  conies  back  to  nic. 

And  a  verse  of  Lapland  song 
Is  haunting  my  memory  still : 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will. 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long, 
I  long  thoughts." 

I  can  see  the  shadowy  lines  of  its  trees, 

And  catch  in  sudden  gleams. 
The  sheen  of  the  far-surrounding  seas, 
And  islands  that  were  the  Hesperidcs 
Of  all  my  boyish  dreams. 

And  tiie  burden  of  that  old  song, 
P  It  murmurs  and  whispers  still : 

f       "  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will, 
And   the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long, 
long  thoughts." 

remember  the  black  wharves  and  the 
slips, 
;       And  the  sea-tides  tossing  free  ; 
'  And  Spanish  sailors  with  bearded  lips, 
And  t  he  beauty  and  mystery  of  the  ships, 
And  the  magic  of  the  sea. 

And  the  voice  of  that  wayward  song 
Is  singing  and  saying  still  : 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will. 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long, 
long  thoughts." 

I  remember  the  bulwarks  by  the  shore, 

And  the  fort  upon  the  hill : 
The  sunrise  gun,  with  its  hollow  roar. 
The  drum-beat  repeated  o'er  and  o'er, 
And  the  bugle  wild  and  shrill. 
And  the  music  of  that  old  song 
Throbs  in  my  memory  still  : 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will. 
And   the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long, 
long  thoughts." 


I  remember  the  sea-fight  far  away, 

How  it  thundered  o'er  the  tide  ! 
And  the  dead  captains,  as  they  lay 
In  their  graves,  o'erlooking  the  tranqui 
bay. 
Where  they  in  battle  died. 

And  the  sound  of  that  mournful 
song 

Goes  through  mo  with  a  thrill  : 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will. 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long, 
long  thoughts." 

I  can  see  the  breezy  dome  of  groves. 

The  shadows  of  Uecring's  Woods  ; 

And  the  friendships  old  and  the  early 

loves 
Come  back  with  a  Sabbath  sound  as  of 
doves 
In  quiet  neighbourhoods. 

And  the  verse  of  that  sweet  old  song 
It  flutters  and  murmurs  still  : 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will. 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long, 
long  thoughts." 

I  remember  the  gleams  and  glooms  that 
dart 
Across  the  schoolboy's  brain  : 
The  song  and  the  silence  in  the  heart. 
That  in  part  are  prophecies,  and  in  part 
Are  longings  wild  and  vain. 

And   the  voice  of  that  fitful  song 
Sings  on,  and  is  never  still : 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will. 
And   the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long, 
long  thoughts." 

There  are  things  of  which  I  may  not 
speak  ; 
There  are  dreams  that  cannot  die  ; 
There    are    thoughts    that    make    the 
strong  heart  weak. 
And  bring  a  pallor  into  the  cheek, 
And  a  mist  before  the  eye. 
And  the  words  of  that  fatal  song 
Come  over  me  like  a  chill : 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will. 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long, 
long  thoughts." 

Strange  to  me  now  are  the  forms  I  meet 

When  I  visit  the  dear  old  town  : 
But  the  native  air  is  pure  and  sweet. 
And   the   trees   that  o'ershadow   each 
well-known  street. 
As  they  balance  up  and  down. 


I 


368 


Poems  for  Children. 


11 


Are  singing  the  beautiiwl  song, 
Are  sighing  and  ■whispering  still : 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will. 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long, 
long  thoufjhts." 

And  Deering's  Woods  are  fresh  and  fair, 

And  with  joy  that  is  almost  pain 
My  heart  goes  back  to  wander  there, 
And  among  the  dreams  of  the  days  that 
were, 
I  find  my  lost  youth  again. 

And  the  strange  and  beautiful  song. 
The  groves  are  repeating  it  still  : 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  A?ind's  will. 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long, 
long  thoughts." 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longjdlow. 


THE  PET-NAME. 
I  HAVE  a  name,  a  little  name, 

Uncadenced  for  the  ear, 
Unhonoured  by  ancestra.l  claim, 
Unsanctified  by  prayer  and  psahn, 

The  solemn  font  anear. 

It  never  did  to  pages  wove 
Nor  gay  romance  belong  ; 
It  never  dedicate  did  move 
As  "  Sacharissa  "  imto  love, 
"  Orinda  "  unto  song. 

My  brother  gave  that  name  to  me 

When  we  were  children  twain. 
When  names  acquired  baptismally 
Were  hard  to  utter,  as  to  see 
That  life  had  any  pain. 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. 


LATJQHINQ  SONG. 

When  the  green  woods  laugh  with  tlie 

voice  of  joy. 
And  the  dimpling  stream  runs  laughing 

When  the  air  does  laugh  with  our  merry 

wit. 
And   the   green   hill   laughs   with   the 

noise  of  it ; 


And   the   grasshopper  laughs   in   the 

merry  scene. 
When  Mary  and  Susan  and  Emily 
Wfth    their   sweet  round  mouths  sing 

Ha,  ha,  he  | 

When  the  painted  birds  laugh  in  the 

shade. 
When  our  table  with  cherries  and  nuts 

is  spread, 
Come  live  and  be  happy  and  join  with 

me 
To  sing  the  sweet  chorus  of  Ha,  ha,  lie  ! 

William  Blake. 


THE    CHIMNEY-SWEEPEB. 

When   my   mother   died   I   was   very 

young. 
And  my  father  sold  me  while  yet  my 

tongue 
Could    scarcely    cry,    "  'weep,    'weep, 

'weep,  'weep  !  " 
So  yoiu-  chimneys  I  sweep  and  in  soot 

I 


There's  little  Tom   Dacre,   who   cried 

when  his  head. 
That  curl'd  like  a  lamb's  back,   was 

shav'd  :   so  I  said  : 
•'  Hush,  Tom,  never  mind  it,  for  when 

your  head's  bare 
You  know  that  the  soot  cannot  spoil 

your  white  hair." 

And  so  he  was  quiet ;    and  that  very 

night. 
As  Tom  was  a-sleeping,  he  had  such  a 

sight ; 
That  thousands  of  sweepers,  Dick,  Joe, 

Ned  and  Jack, 
Were  all  of  them  lock'd  up  in  coffins  of 

black. 

And  by  came  an  angel  who  had  a  bright  j 

key. 
And  he  open'd  the  coffins  and  set  them 

all  free  ; 
Then    down    a    green    plain,    leaping, 

laughing  they  run. 
And  wash  in  a  river,  and  shine  in  the 

sun. 


When  the  meadows  laugh  with  lively 
green. 


Then  naked  and  white,  all  their  bags 
left  behind. 


Miscellaneous. 


369 


They  rise  upon  clouds  and  sport  in  the 

wind  ; 
And  the  angel  told  Tom  if  he'd  be  a 

good   boy. 
He'd  have  God  for  his  father  and  never 

■want  joy. 

And  so  Tom  awoke  ;    and  we  rose  in 

the    dark, 
And  got  with  our  bags  and  our  brushes 

to    work. 
Though  tlie  morning  was  cold  Tom  was 

happy  and  warm  : 
So  if  all  do  their  duty  they  need  not 

fear  harm. 

William  Blake. 


THE  lilTTIiE  BLACK  BOY. 

My  mother  bore  me  in  the  southern  wild, 
And  I  am  black,  but  oh  !  my  soul  is 
white  ; 

White  as  an  angel  is  the  English  child, 
But  1  am  black,  as  if  bereaved  of  light. 

My  mother  taught  me  underneath  a 
tree. 
And  sitting  down  before  the  heat  of 
day, 
She  took  me  on  her  lap,  and  kissed  me, 
And,  pointing  to  the  east,  began  to 
say  :— 

"■  Look  on  the  rising  sun — there  God 
does  live 
And  gives  His  light,  and  gives  His 
heat  away  ; 
And  flowers,  and  trees,  and  beasts,  and 
men  receive 
Comfort  in  morning,  joy  in  the  noon- 
day. 

"  And  we  are  put  on  earth  a  little  space, 
That  we  may  learn  to  bear  the  beams 
of  love  ; 
And  these  black  bodies,  and  this  sun- 
burnt face 
Are  but  a  cloud,  and  like  a  shady 
grove. 

'*  For  when  our  souls  have  learnt  the 
heat  to  bear, 
The  clouds  will  vanish,  we  shall  hear 
his  voice. 


Saying,  *  Come  out  from  the  grove,  my 
love  and  care. 
And  round  my  golden  tent  like  lambs 
rejoice'  " 

Thus  did  my  mother  say,  and  kissed 
me  : 
And  thtis  I  say  to  little  English  boy, — 
"  When   I   from   black,   and   he   from 
white  cloud  free, 
And    round    the    tent   of    God    like 
lambs  we  joy. 

"  I'll  shade  him  from  the  heat,  till  he 
can  bear 
To  lean  in  joy  upon   our   Fatlier's 
knee ; 
And   then   I'll   stand,   and   stroke   his 
silver  hair. 
And  be  like  him,  and  he  will  then 
love  me." 

William  Blake. 


THE  LITTLE  BOY  LOST. 

Father  !  father,  where  are  you  going  ? 

O,  do  not  walk  so  fast. 
Speak,  father,  speak  to  your  little  boy. 

Or  else  I  shall  be  lost. 

The   night   was   dark,   no   father   was 
there  ; 
The  child  was  wet  ■with  dew  ; 
The  mire  was  deep  and  the  child  did 
weep. 
And  away  the  vapour  flew. 

William  Blake. 


THE  LITTLE  BOY  FOUND. 

The  little  boy  lost  in  the  lonely  fen, 
Led  by  the  wandering  light. 

Began  to  cry  ;  but  God,  ever  nigh, 
Appear'd  like  his  father  in  white  ; 

He  kiss'd  the  child,  and  by  the  hand  led, 
And  to  his  mother  brought. 

Who,  in  sorrow  pale,  thro'  the  lonely 
dale. 
Her  little  boy,  weeping,  sought. 

William  Blake. 
24 


370 


Poems  for  Children. 


NUESE'S   SONG-. 

When  the  voices  of  children  are  heard 
on  the  green 

And  laughing  is  heard  on  the  hill, 
My  heart  is  at  rest  within  my  breast, 

And  everything  else  is  still. 

Then  come  home,  my  children,  the  sun 
is  gone  down. 
And  the  dews  of  night  arise  ; 
Come,  come,  leave  off  play,  and  let  us 
away 
Till  the  morning  appears  in  the  skies. 

No,  no,  let  us  play,  for  it  is  yet  day. 
And  we  cannot  go  to  sleep  ; 

Besides,  in  the  sky  the  little  birds  fly. 
And   the  hills   are   all   cover'd   with 
sheep. 

Well,  well,  go  and  play  till  the  light 
fades  a\\  ay. 
And  then  go  home  to  bed. 
The  little  ones  leap'd  and  shouted  and 
laugh'd. 
And  all  the  hills  echoed. 

William  Blake. 


X  WILLIE  WINKIE. 
Wee  Willie  Winkie 

Rins  through  the  town. 
Up  stairs  and  down  stairs 

In  his  nicht-gown  ; 
Tii'Ung  at  the  window, 

Crying  at  the  lock, 
"  Are  the  weans  in  their  bed, 

For  it's  now  ten  o'clock  ?  " 

Hey,  Willie  Winkie, 

Are  ye  coming  ben  ? 
The  cat's  singing  grey  thrums. 

To  the  sleeping  hen  ; 
The  dog's  spelder'd  on  the  floor. 

And  doesna'  gie  a  ch  cp, 
But  here's  a  waukrife  laddie 

That  winna'  fa'  asleep. 

Onything  but  sleep,  you  rogue  ! 

Glow'ring  like  the  moon. 
Rattling  in  an  airn  jug 

Wi'   an  airn  spoon  ; 
Rumblin',  tumblin',  round  about, 

Crawing  like  a  cock, 


Skirlin'  like  a  kenna — what, 
Wauk'nin'  sleeping  folk. 

Hey,  Willie  Winkie— 

The  wean's  in  a  .creel  ! 
Wamblin's  aff  a  body's  knee 

Like  a  very  eel, 
Ruggin'  at  the  cat's  lug, 

Rav'llin'  a'  her  thrums — 
Hey,  Willie  Winkie — 

See,  there  he  comes  ! 

Wearied  is  the  mither 

That  has  a  stoorie  wean, 
A  wee  stumpie  stousie. 

That  canna  rin  his  lane. 
That  has  a  battle  aye  wi'  sleep, 

Before  he'll  close  an  e'e — 
But  a  kiss  frae  aff  his  rosy  lips, 

Gies  strength  anew  to  me. 

William  Miller. 


GREE,   BAIRNIES,   GREE. 

The  moon  has  rowed  her  in  a  cloud, 

Stravaging  win's  begin 
To  shuggle  and  daud  the  window-brods. 

Like  loons  that  wad  be  in  ! 
Gae  whistle  a  tune  in  the  lum-head. 

Or  craik  in  saughen  tree  ! 
We're  thankfu'  for  a  cozie  hame — 

Sae  gree,  my  bairnies,  gree. 

Though    gurgling   blasts    may    doubly 
blaw, 

A  rousing  fire  will  throw 
A  straggler's  taes,  and  keep  fu'  cosh 

My  tousie  taps  o'-tow. 
0  wha  would  cule  j'our  kail,  my  bairns, 

Or  bake  your  bread  like  me  ? 
Ye'd  get  the  bit  frae  out  my  mouth, 

Sae  gree,  my  bairnies,  gree. 

Oh,  never  fling  the  warmsome  boon 

O'   bairnhood's  love  awa'  ; 
Mind  how  ye  sleepit,  cheek  to  cheek, 

Bet^\een  me  and  the  wa'  ; 
How  ae  kind  arm  was  owre  ye  baith  : 

But,  if  ye  disagree. 
Think  on  the  saft  and  kindly  r  un' 

O'  "  Gree,  my  bairnies,  gree." 

William  Miller. 


Miscellaneous. 


371 


THE   SliEEPY  LADDIE. 

Are  ye  no  gaun  to  waukcn  the  day, 

ye  rogue  ? 
Your  parritch  is  ready  and  cool  in  the 

cog, 
Auld  baudions  sae  gaucy,  and  Tam  o' 

that  ilk 
Would    fain    hae    a   drap   o'    my    wee 

laddie's  milk. 

There's  a  wee  birdie  singing,  get  up, 

get  up  ! 
And  listen,  it  says,  "  tak'  a  waup,  tik' 

a  waup  ;  " 
But  I   kittle   his   bosie — a  far   bettor 

plan — 
Or  pouther  his  pow  wi'  a  watering  can. 

There's  claes  to  wash,  and  the  house 

to  redd, 
And  I  canna  begin  till  I  mak'  the  bed  ; 
For  I  count  it  nae  brag  to  be  clever 

as  some, 
Wha  while  thrang  at  a  bakin',  can  socp 

the  lum. 

It's  far  i'  the  day  now,  and  brawly  ye 

ken. 
Your  father  has  scarcely  a  minute  to 

spen'  ; 
But  ae  blink  o'  his  wife  wi'  the  bairn 

on  her  knee, 
He  says  lichens  his  toil,  though  sair  it 

may  be. 

So  up  to  your  parritch,   and   on  wi' 

your  claes  ; 
There's   a   fire   that   might   warm    the 

cauld  Norlan  braes  ; 
For  a  coggie  weel  fill'd  and  a  clean 

fire  en' 
Should    mak'    ye   jump   up,    and    go 

skelping  ben. 

William  Miller. 


MEG  MERRIIilES. 

Old  Meg  she  was  a  gipsy, 
And  lived  upon  the  moors  : 

Her  bed  it  was  the  brown  heath  turf. 
And  her  house  was  out  of  doors. 

Her  apples  were  swart  blackberries. 
Her  currants,  pods  o'  broom ; 


Her  wine  was  dew  o'  the  wild  white  rose, 
Her  book  a  churchyard  tomb. 

Her  Brothers  were  the  craggy  hills. 

Her  Sisters  larchcn  trees  ; 
Alone  with  her  great  family, 

She  lived  as  she  did  please. 

No  breakfast  had  she  many  a  morn, 

No  dinner  many  a  noon, 
And,  'stead  of  supper,  she  would  stare 

Full  hard  against  the  Moon. 

But  every  morn,  of  woodbine  fresh. 

She  made  her  garlanding. 
And  every  night  the  dark  glen  Yew, 

She  wove,  and  she  would  sing. 

And  with  her  fingers,  old  and  brown. 
She  plaited  Mats  of  Rushes, 

And  gave  them  to  the  Cottagers 
She  met  among  the  Bushes. 

Old  Meg  was  brave  as  Margaret  Queen, 

And  tall  as  Amazon  ; 
An  old  red  blanket  cloak  she  wore, 

A  chip  hat  had  she  on. 
God  rest  her  aged  bones  somewhere  : 

She  died  full  long  agone. 

John  Keats. 


)SpHE    songs    of    ATJTOIiYCTJS 

I. 

When  daffodils  begin  to  peer, — 

With  heigh  !  the  doxy  over  the  dale, — 
Why  then  comes  in  the  sweet  o'  the 
year  ; 
For    the    red    blood    reigns    in    the 
winter's  pale. 

The    white    sheet    bleaching    on    the 
hedge, — 
With  heigh  !  the  sweet  birds,  O,  how 
they  sing  ! — • 
Doth  set  my  pugging*  tooth  on  edge 
For  a  quart  of  ale  is  a  dish  for  a  king. 

The  lark  that  tirra-lirra  chants, — 
With  heigh  !  with  hey !   the    thrush 
and  the  jay. 

Are  summer  songs  for  me  and  my  aunts, 
While  we  lie  tumbling  in  the  hay. 

•  Fugging— thieviner. 


372 


Poems  for  Children. 


n. 

Jog  on.  Jog  on,  the  foot-path  way, 
And  merrily  hent*  the  stile-a : 

A  merry  heart  goes  all  the  day. 
Your  sad  tires  in  a  mile-a. 

III. 

Will  you  buy  any  tape. 

Or  lace  for  your  cape, 
My  dainty  duck,  my  dear-a  T 

Any  silk,  any  thread. 

And  toys  for  your  head. 
Of  the  newest  and  finest  wear-a  T 

Come  to  the  pedlar, 

Money's  a  meddler. 
That  doth  utter  all  men's  ware-a. 

IV. 

Lawn,  aa  white  as  driven  snow ; 
Cyprus,  black  as  e'er  was  crow ; 
Gloves,  as  sweet  as  damask  roses  ; 
Masks  for  faces,  and  for  noses  ; 
Bugle-bracelet,  necklace-amber ; 
Perfume  for  a  lady's  chamber ; 
Golden  quoifs,  and  stomachers. 
For  my  lads  to  give  their  dears  ; 
Pins,  and  poking  sticks  of  steel ; 
What  maids  lack  from  head  to  heel ; 
Come,  buy  of  me,  come ;    come  buy, 

come  buy ; 
Buy,  lads,  or  else  your  lasses  cry  : 
Come,  buy. 

William  Shakespeare. 


THE  BAIN  IT  BAINETH 
EVERY  DAY. 

When  that  I  was  and  a  Uttle  tiny  boy. 
With  heigh-ho  !  the  wind  and  the  rain, 

A  foohsh  thing  was  but  a  toy. 
For  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day. 

But  when  I  came  to  man's  estate, 
With  heigh-ho  !  the  wind  and  the  rain, 

'Gainst  knaves  and  thieves  men  shut 
their  gate. 
For  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day. 

But  when  I  came,  alas  !  to  wive. 
With  heigh-ho  !  the  wind  and  the  rain. 

By  swaggering  could  I  never  thrive. 
For  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day. 

•  Hent— stize  hold  of. 


A  great  while  ago  the  world  begun. 

With  heigh-ho  !  the  wind  and  the  rain  ; 
But  that's  all  one,  our  play  is  done, 
And  we'll  strive  to  -please  you  every 
day. 

William  Shakespeare. 


COME     UNTO     THESE     YELLOW 
SANDS. 

Come  unto  these  yellow  sands. 

And  then  take  hands : 
Court'sied  when  you  have,  and  kiss'd 

(The  wild  waves,  whist), 
Foot  it  featly  here  and  there  ; 

And  sweet  sprites,  the  burden  bear. 

Hark,  hark  ! 
Burden,  Bowgh,  •  wowgh. 
The  watch  dogs  bark  : 
Burden,  Bowgh,  wowgh. 
Hark,  hark  !  I  hear 
The  strain  of  strutting  chanticlere 

Cry,  Cock-a-doodle-doo. 

William  Shakespeare. 


THE  EOESAKEN  MERMAN. 

Come,  dear  children,  let  us  away ; 

Down  and  away  below  ! 

Now  my  brothers  call  from  the  bay. 

Now  the  great  winds  shoreward  blow. 

Now  the  salt  tides  seaward  flow  ; 

Now  the  wild  white  horses  play. 

Champ  and  chafe  and  toss  in  the  spray. 

Children  dear,  let  us  away  I 

This  way,  this  way  ! 

Call  her  once  before  you  go — 

Call  once  yet ! 

In  a  voice  that  she  will  know : 

"  Margaret !  Margaret !  " 

Children's  voices  should  be  dear 

(Call  once  more)  to  a  mother's  ear ; 

Children's  voices,  wild  with  pain — 

Surely  she  will  come  again  ! 

Call  her  once  and  come  away  ; 

This  way,  this  way  ! 

"  Mother  dear,  we  cannot  stay  ! 

The  wild  white  horses  foam  and  fret." 

Margaret !  Margaret  1 

Come,  dear  children,  come  away  down  ; 
Call  no  more  ! 


Miscellaneous. 


One  last  look  at  the  white- wall'd  town, 
And  the  little  grey  church  on  the  windy 

shore  ; 
Then  come  down  ! 
She  will  not  come  though  you  call  all 

day; 
Come  away,  come  away  ! 

Children  dear,  was  it  yesterday 
We  heard  the  sweet  bells  over  the  bay  ? 
In  the  caverns  where  we  lay, 
Through  the  surf  and  through  the  swell. 
The  far-off  sound  of  a  silver  bell  ? 
Sand-strewn  caverns,  cool  and  deep. 
Where  the  winds  are  all  asleep  ; 
Where   the   spent    hghts   quiver    and 

gleam. 
Where    the   salt    weed    sways   in    the 

stream. 
Where  the  sea-beasts,  ranged  all  round, 
Feed    in    the    ooze    of   their    pasture - 

ground 
Where  the  sea-snakes  coil  and  twine. 
Dry  their  mail  and  bask  in  the  brine  ; 
Where  great  whales  come  sailing  by, 
Sail  and  sail,  with  unshut  eye. 
Round  the  world  for  ever  and  aye  T 
When  did  music  come  this  way  ? 
Children  dear,  was  it  yesterday  ? 

Children  dear,  was  it  yesterday 
(Call  yet  once)  that  she  went  away  ? 
Once  she  sate  with  you  and  me. 
On  a  red  gold  throne  in  the  heart  of  the 

sea. 
And  the  youngest  sate  on  her  knee. 
She  comb'd  its   bright  hair,   and  she 

tended  it  well. 
When  down  swung  the  sound  of  a  far-off 

bell. 
She  sigh'd,  she  look'd  up  through  the 

clear  green  sea  ; 
She  said,  "  I  must  go,  for  my  kinsfolk 

pray 
In  the  little  grey  church  on  the  shore 

to-day. 
'Twill  be  Easter-time  in  the  world — 

ah  me  ! 
And  I  lose  my  poor  soul.  Merman  !  here 

with  thee." 
I  said  :  "Go  up,  dear  heart,  through 

the  waves  ; 
Say  thy  prayer,  and  come  back  to  the 

kind  sea-caves  !  " 
She  smiled,  she  went  up  through  the 

surf  in  the  bay. 
Children  dear,  was  it  yesterday  ? 


Children  dear,  were  we  long  alone 

"  The  sea  grows  stormy,  the  little  ones 

moan  ; 
Long  prayers,"  I  said,  "in,  the  world 

they  say  ; 
Come  !  "  1  said  ;    aad  we  rose  through 

the  surf  in  the  bay. 
We  went  up  the  beach,  by  the  sandy 

down 
Where   the   sea-stocks    bloom,    to    tiie 

white-waU'd  town  ; 
Through    the    na'row    paved    streets. 

where  all  was  still. 
To  the  little  grey  church  on  the  wiiidv 

hiU. 
From  the  church  came  a  niuriimr  of 

folk  at  their  prayers. 
But    we   stood    without    in    the    cold 

blowing    airs. 
We    climb'd    on    the    graves,    on    the 

stones  worn  with  rains, 
And  we  gazed  up  the  aisle  through  the 

small  leaded  panes. 
She  sate  by  the   pillar ;   we  saw  her 

clear : 
"  Margaret  hist !   come  quick,  we  are 

here  I 

Dear   heart,"    I   said,    "  we   are   long 

alone  ; 
The  sea  grows  stormy,  the  little  ones 

raoan." 
But,  ah,  she  gave  me  never  a  look. 
For  her  eyes  were  sealed  to  the  holy 

book  ! 
Loud  prays  the  priest ;  shut  stands  the 

door. 
Come  away,  children,  call  no  more  ! 
Come  away,  come  down,  call  no  more  ! 
Down,  down,  down  ! 
Down  to  the  depths  of  the  sea  ! 
She  sits  at  her  wheel  in  the  humming 

town. 
Singing  most  joyfully. 
Hark  what  she  sings  :  "  O  joy,  O  jo}-. 
For  the  humming  street,  and  the  cliiid 

with  its  toy  ! 
For  the  priest,  and  the  bell,  anil   liu- 

holy  well ; 
For  the  wheel  where  I  spun. 
And  the  blessed  light  of  the  sun  !  " 
And  so  she  sings  her  fill, 
Singing  most  joyfully. 
Till  the  spindle  drops  from  her  hand. 
And  the  whizzing  wheel  stands  still. 
She  steals  to  the  window,  and  looks  at 

the  sand. 


374 


Poems  for  Children. 


And  over  the  sand  at  the  sea  ; 

And  her  eyes  are  set  in  a  stare  ; 

And  anon'  there  breaks  a  sigh, 

And  anon  there  drops  a  tear, 

From  a  sorrow-clouded  eye. 

And  a  heart  sorrow-laden, 

A  long,  long  sigh  ; 

For  the  cold  strange  eyes  of  a  little  ;\rer- 

maiden, 
And  the  gleam  of  her  golden  hair. 

Come  away,  away,  children  ; 

Come,  childi'en,  come  down  ! 

The  hoarse  wind  blows  colder ; 

Lights  shine  in  the  town. 

She  will  start  from  her  slumbei 

When  gusts  shake  the  door  : 

She  will  hear  the  winds  howling^ 

Will  hear  the  waves  roar. 

We  shall  see,  while  above  us 

The  waves  roar  and  whirl, 

A  ceiHng  of  amber, 

A  pavement  of  pearl. 

Singing  :  "  Here  came  a  mortal. 

But  faithless  was  she  ! 

And  alone  dwell  for  ever 

The  kings  of  the  sea." 

But  children,  at  midnight, 

When  soft  the  winds  blow, 

When  clear  falls  the  moonlight. 

When  spring-tides  are  low  ; 

When  sweet  airs  come  seaward 

From  heaths  starr'd  with  broom. 

And  high  rocks  throw  mildlj^ 

On  the  blanch'd  sands  a  gloom. 

Up  the  still,  glistening  beaches 

Up  the  creeks  we  will  hie. 

Over  banks  of  bright  seaweed 

The  ebb-tide  leaves  dry. 

We  will  gaze,  from  the  sand-hills. 

At  the  white,  sleeping  town. 

At  the  chirrch  on  the  hill-side — 

And  then  come  back  down. 

Singing  :  "  There  dwells  a  loved  one, 

But  cruel  is  she  ! 

She  left  lonely  for  ever 

The  kings  of  the  sea." 

Matthew  Arnold, 


THE   RAVEN". 

Once  upon  a  midnight  dreary,  while  I 
pondered,  weak  and  weary, 


Over  many  a  quaint  and  curious  volume 
of  forgotten  lore — 

While  I  nodded,  nearly  napping,  sud- 
denlj'  there  came  a  tapping. 

As  of  someone  gently  rapping,  rapping 
at  my  chamber  door — 

*'  'Tis  some  visitor,"  I  muttered,  "  tap- 
ping at  my  chamber  door — 
Only  this,  and  nothing  more." 

Ah  !  distinctly  I  remember,  it  was  in 

the  bleak  December, 
And      each     separate     dying     ember 

UTOught  its  ghost  upon  the  floor  ; 
Eagerly  I  wished  the  morrow  ;    vainly 

I  had  sought  to  borrow 
From  my  books  surcease  of  sorrow — 

sorrow  for  the  lost  Lenore — 
For  the  rare  and  radiant  maiden  whom 

the  angels  name  Lenore — 
Nameless  here  for  evermore. 

And  the  silken,  sad,  uncertain  rustling 

of  each  piu-ple  curtain 
Thrilled  me — filled  me  with  fanta.stie 

terrors  never  felt  before  ; 
So  that  now,  to  still  the  beating  of  mv 

heart,  I  stood  repeating, 
"  'Tis  some  visitor  entreating  entrance 

at  my  chamber  door — 
Some  late  visitor  entreating  entrance 

at  my  chamber  door : 

Tliis  it  is,  and  nothing  more." 

Presently  my  soul  grew  stronger  ;  hesi- 
tating then  no  longer, 

"  Sir,"'  said  I,  "  or  madam,  truly  your 
forgiveness  I  implore  ; 

But  the  fact  is,  I  was  napping,  and  so 
gently  you  came  rapping. 

And  so  faintly  you  came  tapping,  tap- 
ping at  my  chamber  door. 

That  I  scarce  was  sure  I  heard  you." 
Here  I  opened  wide  the  door  : 

Darkness  there,  and  nothing  more. 

Deep  into  that  darkness  peering,  long 
I  stood  there,  wondering,  fearing. 

Doubting,  dreaming  dreams  no  mortal 
ever  dared  to  dream  before  ; 

But  the  silence  was  unbroken,  and  the 
stillness  gave  no  token. 

And  the  only  word  there  spoken  was  the 
whispered  word,  "  Lenore  !  " 

This  I  whispered,  and  an  echo  mur- 
mured back  the  word,  "  Lenore  !  " 
Merely  this,  and  nothing  more. 


Miscellaneous. 


375 


Back  into  my  chamber  turning,  all  ray 
soul  within  me  burning, 

Soon  again  I  heard  a  rapping,  some- 
thing louder  than  before  : 

"  Surely,"  said  I,  "  surcl}'  that  is  some- 
thing at  my  window  lattice  ; 

Let  me  see  then,  what  thereat  is,  and 
this  mystery  explore — 

Let  my  heart  be  still  a  moment,  and 
this  mystery  explore. 

'Tis  the  wind,  and  nothing  more." 

Open  here  I  flung  the  shutter,  when, 

with  many  a  flirt  and  flutter. 
In  there  stepped  a  stately  Raven,  of 

the  saintly  days  of  yore  ; 
Not  the  least  obeisance  made  he,  not  a 

minute  stopped  or  stayed  he  ; 
But  with  mien  of  lord  or  lady,  perched 

above  my  chamber  door — 
Perched  above  a  bust  of  Pallas,  just 

above  my  chamber  door — 

Perched,  and  sat,  and  nothing  more. 

Then  this  ebony  bird  beguiling  my  sad 

fancy  into  smiling. 
By  the  grave  and  stern  decorum  of  t!ie 

countenance  it  wore : 
"  Though    thy    crest    be    shorn    and 

shaven,  thou,"  I  said,  "  art  sure,  no 

craven  ; 
"  Ghastly,   grim,   and  ancient  Raven, 

wandering  from  the  nightly  shore 
Tell  me  what  thy  lordly  name  is  on 

the  night's  Plutonian  shore  ?  "' 

Quoth  the  Raven,  "  Never  more." 

Much  I  marvelled  this  ungainly  fowl 

to  hear  discourse  so  plainly. 
Though  its  answer  little  meaning,  little 

relevancy  bore  ; 
For  we  cannot  help  agreeing  that  no 

Uving  human  being 
Ever  yet  was  blessed  with  seeing  bird 

above  his  chamber  door — 
Bird  or  beast  upon  the  sculptured  bust 

above  his  chamber  door 

With  such  name  as  "  Never  more." 

But  the  Raven,  sitting  lonely  on  that 

placid  bust,  spoke  only 
That  one  word,  as  if  his  soul  in  that  one 

word  he  did  outpour : 
Nothing  further  then  he  uttered,  not  a 

feather  then  he  fluttered. 
Till  I  scarcely  more  than  mutte  ed — 

"  Other  friends  have  flown  before. 


On  the  morrow  he  will  leave  me,  a.s 
my  hopes  have  flown  lufore." 

Then  the  bird  said,  "  Never  more." 

Startled   by   the   stillness   broken    by 
reply  so  aptly  spoken, 

"  Doubtless,"  said  I,  "  what  it  utte  s  i.s 
its  only  stock  and  store. 

Caught  from  some  unhappy  miser, 
whom  unmerciful  disaster 

Followed  fast  and  followed  faster,  till 
his  songs  one  burden  bore  — 

Till  the  dirges  of  his  hope  this  melan- 
choly burden  bore — 
Of  '  Never,  never  more.'  " 

But  the  Raven  still  bcguiUng  all  my 

sad  soul  into  smiling. 
Straight  I  wheeled  a  cushioned  seat  in 

front  of  bird,  and  bust,  and  door ; 
Then  upon  the  velvet  sinking,  I  betook 

myself  to  linking 
Fancy  into  fancy,  thinking  what  this 

ominous  bird  of  yore — 
What    this     grim,    ungainly,   ghastly, 

gaunt,  and  ominous  bird  of  yore 
Meant  in  croaking  "  Never  more." 

Thus  I  sat  engaged  in  j^uessing,  but  no 

syUable  expressing 
To  the  fowl  whose  fiery  eyes  now  burned 

into  my  bosom's  core  ; 
This  and  more  I  sat  divining,  with  my 

head  at  ease  rechning 
On  the  cushion's  velvet  lining,  that  the 

lamp-light  gloated  o'er. 
But  whose  velvet  violet  lining,   with 

the  lamp-light  gloating  o'er. 
She  shall  press,  ah,  never  more  ! 

Then  methought  the  air  grew  denser, 

perfumed  from  an  unseen  censer 
S\vung   by   seraphim,    whose   footfalls 

tinkled  on  the  tufted  floor. 
"  Wretch,"    I   cried,    "  thy   God    hath 

lent  thee — by  these  angels  he  hath 

sent  thee 
Respite — respite    and    nepenthe    from 

my  memories  of  Lenore  ! 
Quaff,  oh  quaff  this  kind  nepenthe,  and 

forg?t  this  lost  Lenore  !  " 

Quoth  the  Raven,  "  Never  more." 

"  Prophet,"  said  I,  "  thing  of  evil — 
prophet  still,  if  bird  or  devil  ! 

Whether  tempter  sent,  or  whether 
tempest  tossed  thee  here  ashore 


376 


Poems  for  Children. 


Desolate,   yet  all  undaunted,   on  this 

desert  land  enchanted. 
On  this  home  by  honor  haunted— tell 

me  truly,  I  implore, 
Is  there — is  there  balm  in  Gilead  ? — 

tell  me,  tell  me,  I  implore  !  " 

Quoth  the  Raven,  "  Never  more." 

"  Prophet,"  said  I,  "  thing  of  evil ! — 

prophet  stiU,  if  bird  or  devil ! 
By  that  heaven  that  bends  above  us — 

by  that  God  we  both  adore — 
TeU  this  soul,  with    sorrow   laden,  if, 

within  the  distant  Aiden 
It  shall  clasp  a  sainted  maiden,  whom 

the  angels  name  Lenore  ! 
Clasp  a  rare  and  radiant  maiden,  whom 

the  angels  name  Lenore  ?  " 

Quoth  the  Raven,  "  Never  more." 

•'  Be  that  word  our  sign  of  parting, 

bird  or  fiend,"  I  shrieked  upstarting — 
"  Get  thee  back  into  the  tempest  and 

the  night's  Plutonian  shore  ; 
Leave  no  black  plume  as  a  token  of  that 

lie  thy  soul  hath  spoken. 
Leave    my   loneliness    unbroken — quit 

the  bust  above  my  door, 
Take  thy  beak  from  out  my  heart,  and 

take  thy  form  from  off  my  door  !  " 
Quoth  the  Raven,  "  Never  more." 

And  the  Raven,  never  flitting,  still  is 

sitting,  still  is  sitting. 
On  the  pallid  bust  of  Pallas,  just  above 

my  chamber  door  ; 
And  his  eyes  have  all  the  seeming  of  a 

demon's  that  is  dreaming, 
And  the  lamp-light  o'er  him  streaming, 

throws  his  shadow  on  the  floor  ; 
And  my  soul  from  out  that  shadow, 

that  lies  floating  on  the  floor, 
Shall  be  lifted — never  more  ! 

Edgar  Allan  Poe, 


IT  IS  NOT  THE   TEAB. 

It  is  not  the  tear  at  this  moment  shed, 
When  the  cold  turf  has  just  been  laid 
o'er  him. 
That   can   tell   how   beloved   was   the 
friend  that's  fled. 
Or  how  deep  in  our  hearts  we  deplore 
him. 


'Tis  the  tear,  through  many  a  long  day 
wept, 

'Tis  life's  whole  path  o'ershaded  ; 
'Tis  the  one  ivmembrance,  fondly  kept. 

When  all  lighter  griefs  have  faded. 

Thus,  his  memory,  like  some  holy  light 
Kept  alive  in  our  hearts,  will  improve 
them. 
For  worth  shall  look  fairer,  and  truth 
more  bright, 
When  we  think  how  he  lived  but  to 
love  them. 
And,  as  fresher  flowers  the  sod  perfume, 

Where  buried  saints  are  lying. 
So  our  hearts  shall  borrow  a  sweetening 
bloom. 
From  the  image  he  left  there  in  dying  I 

Thomas  Moore, 


THE    THREE    FISHEBS. 

Three  fishers  went  sailing  away  to  the 
West, 
Away  to  the  West  as  the  sun  went 
down ; 
Each  thought  on  the  woman  who  loved 
him  the  best. 
And    the    children    stood    watching 

them  out  of  the  town  ; 
For   men   must   work,    and   women 

must  weep. 
And  there's  little  to  earn,  and  many 
to  keep. 
Though  the  harbour- bar  be  moan- 
ing. 

Three  wives  sat  up  in  the  lighthouse 
tower, 
And  trimmed  the  lamps  as  the  sun 
went  down. 
And  they  looked  at  the  squall,  and  they 
looked  at  the  shower, 
And  the  night  rack  came  rolling  up, 

ragged  and  brown ; 
But   men   must   work,   and   women 

must  weep. 
Though  storms  be  sudden,  and  waters 
deep, 
And  the  harbour-bar  be  moaning. 

Three  cor])scs  lay  out  on  the  shining 
sands. 


Miscellaneous. 


377 


In  the  morning  gleam  as  the  tide 
went  down. 
And  the  women  are  watching  and  wring- 
ing their  hands, 
For  those  who  will  never  come  home 

to  the  town. 
For  men  must  work,  and  women  must 

weep, 
And  the  sooner  it's  over,  the  sooner 
to  sleep. 
And  good-bye  to  the  bar  and  its 
moaning. 

Charles  KingsUy. 


THE   HIDDEN  MERMAIDS. 

Sand,  sand,  liills  of  sand, 
And  the  wind  where  notliing  is 
Green  and  sweet  of  the  land — 
No  grass,  no  trees. 
No  birds,  no  butterfly 
But  hills,  liills  of  sand, 
And  a  burning  sky. 

Sea,  sea  mounds  of  the  sea. 
Hollow  and  dark  and  blue. 
Flashing  incessantly 

The  whole  sea  through ; 

No  flower,  no  jutting  root. 
Only  the  floor  of  the  sea 

With  foam  afloat. 

Blow,  blow  windy  shells  I 

And  the  watery  fish. 
Deaf  to  the  hidden  bells 

In  the  waters  plash : 
No  streaming  gold,  no  eyes 
Watching  along  the  waves, 
But  far-blown  shells,  faint  bells, 

From  the  darkling  caves. 

Walter  Bamal. 


•♦HOW  SWEET  I  ROAMED."* 
How  sweet  I  roam'd  from  field  to  field 

And  tasted  all  the  summer's  pride. 
Till  I  the  Prince  of  Love  beheld 

Who  in  the  sunny  beam^  did  glide  ! 

•  Said  to  have  been  written  when  tlie  Author 
was  under  fourteen  years  old, 


He  shew'd  me  lilies  for  my  hair, 
And  blushing  roses  for  my  brow  ; 

He  led  me  through  his  gardens  fair 
Where  all  his  golden  pleasures  grow. 

With  sweet  May-dews  my  wings  were 
wet. 

And  Phoebus  fired  my  vocal  rage  ; 
He  caught  me  in  his  silken  net. 

And  shut  me  in  his  golden  cage. 

He  loves  to  sit  and  hear  me  sing, 

Then,  laughing,  sports  and  plays  with 
me  ; 

Then  stretches  out  my  golden  wing 
And  mocks  my  loss  of  liberty. 

William  Blake. 


ON   ANOTHER'S    SORROW. 

Can  I  see  another's  woe, 
.\nd  not  be  in  sorrow  too  ? 
Can  I  see  another's  grief. 
And  not  seek  for  kind  reUef  ? 

Can  I  see  a  falling  tear. 
And  not  feel  my  sorrow's  share  ? 
Can  a  father  see  his  child, 
Weep,  nor  be  with  sorrow  filled  ? 

Can  a  mother  sit  and  hear 
An  infant  groan,  an  infant  fear  ? 
No,  no  !   never  can  it  be  ! 
Never,  never  can  it  be  ! 

And  can  He  who  smiles  on  all. 
Hear  the  wren  with  sorrows  small. 
Hear  the  small  bird's  grief  and  care 
Hear  the  woes  that  infants  bear — 

And  not  sit  beside  the  nest. 
Pouring  pitj'  in  their  breast. 
And  not  sit  the  cradle  near, 
Weeping  tear  on  infant's  tear  ? 

And  not  sit  both  night  and  day. 
Wiping  all  our  tears  away ; 
Oh  no  !   never  can  it  be  : 
Never,  never  can  it  be  I 

He  doth  give  His  joy  to  all : 
He  becomes  an  infant  small. 
He  becomes  a  man  of  woe. 
He  doth  feel  the  sorrow  too. 


378 


Poems  for  Children. 


Think  not  thou  cans't  sigh  a  sigh, 
And  thy  Maker  is  not  by  : 
Think  not  thou  cans't  weep  a  tear. 
And  thy  Maker  is  not  near. 

Oh,  He  who  gives  to  us  His  joy. 
That  our  grief  He  may  destroy  : 
Till  our  grief  is  fled  and  gone 
He  doth  sit  by  us  and  moan. 

William  Blake, 


Now  hke  a  mighty  wind  they  raise  to 

heaven  the  voice  of  song. 
Or    like    harmonious    thuuderings    the 

seats  of  heaven  among. 
Beneath  them  sit  the  aged  men,  wise 

tfiiardiang  of  the  poor ; 
Then   cherish   pity   lest  you   drive   an 

angel  from  your  door. 

William  Blake. 


THE   LOST  PliAYMATB 

There  is  wind  where  the  rose  was. 
Cold  rain  where  sweet  grass  was. 

And  clouds  hke  sheep 

Stream  o'er  the  steep 
Grey  sky  where  the  lark  was. 

Nought  gold  where  your  hair  was ; 
Nought  warm  where  your  hand  was; 

But  phantom,  forlorn, 

Beneath  the  thorn 
Your  ghost  where  your  face  was. 

Sad  winds  where  your  voice  was ; 
Tears,  tears,  where  my  heart  was ; 

And  ever  with  me, 

Child,  ever  with  me 
Silence  where  hope  was. 

Walter  Bamal, 


liOVE  ANT)  FRIENDSHIP. 

Love  is  liko  the  wild  rose-briar ; 
Friendship  like  the  holly-tree. 
The  liolly  is  dark  when  the  rose-briar 
blooms. 
But    which    will    bloom    most    con- 
stantly ? 

The  wild  rose-briar  is  sweet  in  spring. 
Its  summer  blossoms  scent  the  air ; 

Yet  wait  till  winter  comes  again, 
And   who   will   call   the   wild   briar 
fair? 

Then  scorn  the  silly  rose-wreath  now. 
And    deck    thee    with    the    holly's 
sheen, 

That  when  December  blights  thy  brow. 
He  still  may  leave  thy  garland  green. 

Emily  Bronte. 


HOIiY  THUBSDAT". 

'TwAS    on    a    Holy    Thursday,    their 

innocent  faces  clean. 
The  children  walking  two  and  two,  in 

red  and  blue  and  green. 
Grey-headed    beadles    walk'd     before 

with  wands  as  white  as  .snow. 
Till  into  the  high  dome  of  Paul's  they 

like  Thames'  waters  flow. 

Oh    what   a    multitude    they    seem'd, 

these  flowers  of  London  town ; 
Seated    in    companies,    they   sit   with 

radiance  all  their  own. 
The  hum  of  multitudes  was  there,  but 

multitudes  of  lambs. 
Thousands    of    little    boys    and    girls 

raising  their  innocent  hands. 


JOHN  ANDERSON". 

John  Anderson  my  jo,  John, 
AVhen  we  were  fii-st  acquent 
Your  locks  were  hke  the  raven. 
Your  bonnie  brow  was  brent ; 
But  now  your  brow  is  bald,  John, 
Your  locta  are  hke  the  snaw  ; 
But  blessings  on  your  frosty  pow, 
John  Anderson  my  jo. 

John  Anderson  my  jo,  John, 
We  clamb  the  hill  thegither. 
And  mony  a  canty  day,  John, 
We've  had  wi'  ane  anither  : 
Now  we  maim  totter  down,  John, 
But  hand  in  hand  we'll  go. 
And  sleep  thegither  at  the  foot, 
John  Anderson  my  jo. 

Robert  Bums. 


Miscellaneous. 


379 


"I  WANDERED  BY  THE 

BECOK-SIDE." 
I  wander'd  by  the  brook-side, 

I  Tvauder'd  by  the  mill, — 
I  could  not  hear  the  brook  flow, 

Tho'  noisy  wheels  were  still ; 
There  was  no  burr  of  grasshopper, 

Iso  chirp  of  any  bird ; 
But  the  beating  of  my  own  heart 

Was  all  the  sound  I  heard. 

I  sat  beneath  the  elm-tree, 

I  watch  'd  the  long,  long  shade. 
And  as  it  grew  still  longer 

I   did   not   feel   afraid  ; 
For  I  Usten'd  for  a  foot-fall, 

I  listen'd  for  a  word, — 
But  the  beating  of  my  own  heart 

Was  all  the  sound  I  heard. 

He  came  not, — no,  he  came  not ; 

The  night  came  on  alone  ; 
The  Uttle  stars  sat  one  by  one 

Each  on  his  golden  throne ; 
The  evening  air  pass'd  by  my  cheek. 

The  leaves  above  were  stirr'd, — ■ 
But  the  beating  of  my  own  heart 

Was  all  the  sound  I  heard. 

Fast  silent  tears  were  flowing. 

When  someone  stood  behind  ; 
A  hand  was  on  my  shoulder, 

I  knew  its  touch  was  kind  : 
It  drew  me  nearer,  nearer  ; 

We  did  not  speak  a  word, — 
For  the  beating  of  oiu:  own  hearts 

Was  all  the  sound  we  heard. 

Lord   Houghton. 


ANSWER  TO  A  CHILD'S 
QUESTION. 

Do  you  ask  what  the  birds  say  ?    The 

sparrow  and  the  dove. 
The  hnnet,  and  thrush  say,  "  I  love,  and 

I  love  !  " 
In  the  winter  they're  silent,  the  wind 

is  so  strong ; 
What  it  says    I   don't  know,   but  it 

sings  a  loud  song. 
But  green  leaves,  and  blossoms,  and 

sunny  warm   weather. 
And  singing  and  loving — all  come  back 

together. 


But  the  lark  is  so  brimful  of  gladness 

and  love. 
The  green  fields  below  him,   the  blue 

sky  above. 
That  he  sings,  and  he  sings,  and  for 

ever  sings  he, 
"  I  love  my  Love,  and  my  Love  loves 

me." 

<S.    T.   Coleridge. 


"AS  THRO'  THE  LAND  AT  EVE 

WE   WENT." 

As  thro'  the  land  at  eve  we  went. 

And  pluck'd  the  ripen'd  ears, 
We  fell  out,  my  wife  and  I, 

And  kiss'd  again  with  tears  : 
And  blessings  on  the  falling-out 

That  all  the  more  endears, 
AVhen  we  fall  out  with  those  we  love. 

And  kiss  again  with  tears  ! 
For  when  we  came  where  hes  the  child. 

We  lost  in  other  years. 
There  above  the  Uttie  grave. 

We  kiss'd  again  with  tears. 

Lord  Tennyson. 


CIRCUMSTANCE. 
Two  children  in  two  neighbour  villages 
Playing  mad  pranks  along  the  healthy 

leas ; 
Two  strangers  meeting  at  a  festival ; 
Two  lovers  whispering  by  an  orchard 

wall ; 
Two    lives    bound    fast    in    one   with 

golden   ease  ; 
Two  graves  grass-green  beside  a  grey 

church-tower, 
Wash'd    with    still    rains    and    dais}'- 

blossomed  ; 
Two  children  in  one  hamlet  born  and 

bred  ; 
So  runs   the  round   of  life  from  hour 

to  hour. 

Lord  Tennyson. 


CHARACTER  OF  A  HAPPY 
LIFE. 

How  happy  is  he  born  and  taught 
That  serveth  not  another's  will ; 


380 


Poems  for  Children. 


Wliose  armour  is  his  honest  thought, 
And  simple  truth  his,  utmost  skill ! 

Whose  passions  not  his  masters  are, 
Whose  soul  is  still  prepared  for  death. 
Not  tied  unto  the  world  with  care 
Of  pubhc  fame,  or  private  breath ; 

Who  envies  none  that  chance  doth  raise 
Or  vice ;    who  never  understood 
How    deepest    wounds    are    given    by 

praise  ; 
Nor  rules  of  state,  but  rules  of  good  : 

Who  hath  his  hfe  from  rumours  freed  ; 
Whose  conscience  is  his  strong  retreat ; 
AVhose  state  can  neither  flatterers  feed. 
Nor  ruin  make  accusers  great ; 

Who  God  doth  late  and  early  pray 
More  of  His  grace  than  gifts  to  lend ; 
And  entertains  the  harmless  day 
With  a  well-chosen  book  or  friend  ; 

— This  man  is  freed  from  servile  bands 
Of  hope  to  rise,  or  fear  to  fall ; 
Lord  of  himself,  though  not  of  lands  ; 
And  having  nothing,  yet  hath  all. 

Sir   Henry    Wottori, 


THE  DAWNING  DAY. 

So  here  hath   been   dawning 

Another  blue  day  : 
Think,  wilt  thou  let  it 

Shp  useless  away  ? 

Out  of  Eternity 

This  new  day  is  born ; 
Into   Eternity 

At  night  doth  return. 

Behold  it  aforetime 

No  eyes  ever  did  : 
So  soon  it  for  ever 

From  all  eyes  is  hid. 

Here  hath  been  dawning 

Another  blue  day : 
Think,  wilt  thou  let  it 

Shp  useless  away  T 

Thomas   Carlyle. 


A  PSAIiM  OP  LIFE. 

Tell  me  not,  in  mournful  numbers. 
Life  is  but  an  empty  dream  ! 

For  the  soul  is  dead  that  slumbers, 
And  things  are  not  what  they  seem. 

Life  is  real !    Life  is  earnest ! 

And  the  grave  is  not  its  goal ; 
Dust  thou  art,  to  dust  returnest. 

Was  not  spoken  of  the  soul. 

Not   enjoyment,    and   not   sorrow, 
Is  our  destined  end  or  way  ; 

But  to  act,  that  each  to-morrow 
Finds  us  farther  than  to-day. 

Art  is  long,  and  Time  is  fleeting, 
And  our  hearts,  though  stout    and 
brave. 

Still,  hke  muffled  drums,  are  beating 
Funeral  marches  to  the  grave. 

In  the  world's  broad  field  of  battle. 

In  the  bivouac  of  Life, 
Be  not  hke  dumb,  driven  cattle  I 

Be  a  hero  in  the  strife  ! 

Trust  no  Future,  howe'er  pleasant ! 

Let  the  dead  Past  bury  its  dead  I 
Act — act  in  the  Uving  Present ! 

Heart  within,  and  God  o'erhead  1 

Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  us 
We  can  make  our  hves  sublime. 

And,  departing,  leave  behind  us 
Footprints  on  the  sands  of  time ; 

Footprints,  that  perhaps  another. 
Sailing  o'er  hfe's  solemn  main, 

A  forlorn  and  shipwrecked  brother. 
Seeing,  shall  take  heart  again. 

Let  us,  then,  be  up  and  doing, 
With  a  heart  for  any  fate  ; 

Still  achieving,  still  pursuing, 
Learn  to  labour  and  to  wait. 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


A  NAME  IN  THE  SAND. 
Alone  I  walked  the  ocean  strand ; 
A  pearly  shell  was  in  my  hand  : 
I  stooped  and  wrote  upon  the  sand 
My  name — the  year — the  day. 


Miscellaneous. 


881 


As  onward  from  the  spot  I  passed, 
One  lingering  look  behind  I  cast ; 
A  wave  came  rolling  high  and  fast, 
And  washed  my  lines  away. 

And  so,  methought,  'twill  shortly  ho 
With  every  mark  on  earth  from  iiic  ; 
A  wave  of  dark  oblivion's  sea 

Will  sweep  across  tlic  place, 
Where  I  have  trod  the  sandy  shore 
Of  time,  and  been  to  be  no  more, 
Of  me — my  day — the  name  I  bore, 

To  leave  nor  track,  nor  trace. 

And   yet,    with   Him  who   counts   the 
sands 

And  holds  the  waters  in  His  hands, 
I  know  a  lasting  record  stands. 

Inscribed  against  my  name, 
( )f  all  this  mortal  part  has  wrought ; 
Of  all  this  thinking  soul  has  thought; 
And  from  their  fleeting  moments  caught 

For  glory  or  for  shame. 

Hannah  ilagg  Gould. 


EXCEIiSIOR. 

The  shades  of  night  were  falling  fast. 
As  through  an  Alpine  village  passed 
A  youth,  who  bore,  'mid  snow  and  ice, 
A  banner,  with  the  strange  device. 
Excelsior  ! 

His  brow  was  sad  ;    his  eye  beneath 
Flashed  like  a  faulchion  from  its  slieath. 
And  like  a  silver  clarion  rung 
The  accents  of  that  unknown  tongue, 
Excelsior  ! 

In  happy  homes  he  saw  the  light 
Of  household   fires   gleam   warm   and 

bright ; 
Above,   the  spectral  glaciers  shone. 
And  from  his  lips  escaped  a  groan. 
Excelsior  ! 

"  Try  not  the  Pass  !  "  the  old  man  said, 
"  Dark  lowers  the  tempest  overhead, 
The  roaring  torrent  is  deep  and  wide  !  " 
And  loud  that  clarion  voice  replied. 
Excelsior  ! 

"  0  stay  !  "  the  maiden  said,  "  and  rest 
Thy  weary  head  upon  this  breast !  " 


A  tear  stood  in  his  bright  blue  eye. 
But  still  he  answered,  with  a  sigli. 
Excelsior  ! 

"  Beware     the     pine-tree's     withered 

branch  ! 
Beware  the  awful  avalanche  !  " 
This  was  the  peasant's  last  good-night ! 
A  voice  replied,  far  up  the  height. 
Excelsior  ! 

At  break  of  day,  as  heavenward 
The  pious  monks  of  Saint  Bernard 
Uttered  the  oft-repeated  prayer, 
A  voice  cried  through  the  startled  air, 
Excelsior  ! 

A  traveller,  by  the  faithful  hound. 
Half-buried  in  the  snow,  was  found. 
Still  grasping  in  his  hand  of  ice 
That  banner,  with  the  strange  device. 
Excelsior  ! 

'I'licre,  in  the  twilight  cold  and  grey. 
Lifeless,  but  beautiful,  he  lay. 
And  from  the  sky,  serene  and  far, 
A  voice  fell,  like  a  falling  star. 
Excelsior  ! 

Henry   Wadu  worth  Long  fellow. 


PROCRASTINATIOIir. 

Shun  delays,  they  breed  remorse ; 

Take  thy  time  while  time  is  lent  thee  ; 
Creeping  snails  have  weakest  force  ; 

Fly  thy  fault,  lest  thou  repent  thee  ; 
Good  is  best  when  soonest  wrought  ; 
Lingering  labours  come  to  nought. 

Hoist  up  sail  while  gale  doth  last ; 

Tide     and     wind     wait    no     man's 
pleasure  ; 
Seek  not  time  when  time  is  past ; 

Sober  speed  is   wisdom's  leisure  ; 
Afterwits  are  dearly  bought. 
Let  thy  forewit  guide  thy  thought. 

Time  wears  all  his  locks  before. 

Take  thou  hold  upon  his  forehead  ; 

When  he  flies  he  turns  no  more. 
And  behind  his  scalp  is  naked  : 

Works  adjourned  have  many  stays, 

Long  demurs  breed  new  delays, 

Robert  Southwell. 


382 


Poems  for  Children. 


BUB  OB  BUST. 
Idler,  why  lie  down  to  die  ? 

Better  rub  than  rust. 
Hark  !  the  lark  sings  in  the  sky — 

"  Die  when  die  thou  must ! 
Day  is  waking,  leaves  are  shaking. 

Better  rub  than  rust." 

In  the  grave  there's  sleep  enough — 

"  Better  rub  than  rust. 
Death,  perhaps,  is  hunger-proof. 

Die  when  die  thou  must ; 
Men  are  mowing,  breezes  blowing, 

Better  rub  than  rust." 

He  who  will  not  work  shall  want ; 

Nought  for  nought  is  just. 
Won't  do  7nust  do,  when  he  canH, — 

"  Better  rub  than  rust.  ' 
Bees  are  flying,  sloth  is  dying, 

Better  rub  than  rust." 

Ebenezer  Elliott. 


CONTENTMEITT. 
My  mind  to  me  a  kingdom  is  ; 

Such  perfect  joy  therein  I  find. 
As  far  exceeds  all  earthly  bliss 

That  world  affords,  or  grows  by  kind  : 
Tliough  much  I  want  what  most  men 

have, 
Yet  doth  my  mind  forbid  me  crave. 

Content  I  live — this  is  my  stay  ; 

I  seek  no  more  than  may  suffice — 
I  press  to  bear  no  haughty  sway ; 

Look — what  I  lack  my  mind  supplies. 
Lo  !  thus  I  triumph  like  a  king, 
Content  with  that  my  mind  doth  bring. 

I  see  how  plenty  surfeits  oft, 
And  hasty  climbers  oft  do  fall  ; 

I  see  how  those  that  sit  aloft 

Mishap  doth  threaten  most  of  all ; 

They  get — they  toil — they  spend  with 
care  : 

Such  cares  my  mind  could  never  bear. 

I  laugh  not  at  another's  loss, 
I  grudge  not  at  another's  gain  ; 

No  worldly  wave  my  mind  can  toss  ; 
I  brook  that  is  another's  pain. 

I  fear  no  foe — I  scorn  no  friend  : 

I  dread  no  death — I  fear  no  end- 


Some  have  too  much,   yet  still  they 
crave  ; 
I  little  have,  yet  seek  no  more  : 
They  are  but  poor,  though  much  they 
have. 
And  I  am  rich — with  little  store. 
They  poor,  I  rich  ;    they  beg,  I  give : 
They  lack,  I  lend :  they  pine,  I  live. 

I  wish  not  what  I  have  at  will : 

I  wander  not  to  seek  for  more : 
I  like  the  plain  ;  I  climb  no  hill : 
In  greatest  storm  I  sit  on  shore. 
And  laugh  at  those  that  toil  in  vain. 
To  gain  what  must  be  lost  again. 
This  is  my  choice  ;  for  why — I  find 
No  wealth  is  like  a  quiet  mind. 

Sir  E.  Dyer. 


THE  BOY  AND   THE  ANGEI.. 

Morning,  evening,  noon,  and  night, 
"  Praise  God,"  sang  Theocrite. 

Then  to  his  poor  trade  he  turned. 

By  which  the  daily  meal  was  earned. 

Hard  he  laboured,  long  and  well ; 
Over  his  work  the  boy's  curls  fell : 

But  ever,  at  each  period, 

He  stopped  and  sang,  "  Praise  God." 

Then  back  again  his  curls  he  tlirew. 
And  cheerful  turned  to  work  anew. 

Said  Blaise,  the  listening  monk,  "  Well 

done  ; 
I  doubt  not  thou  art  heard,  my  son." 

"  As  well  as  if  thy  voice  to-day 
Were  praising  God,  the  Pope's  great 
way. 

"  This  Easter  Day  the  Pope  at  Rome 
Praises  God  from  Peter's  dome." 

Said  Theocrite,  "  Would  God  that  I 
Miglit  praise  Him,  that  great  way,  and 
die  !  " 

Night  passed,  day  shone 
And  Theocrite  was  gone. 

With  God  a  day  endures  alway, 
A  thousand  years  are  but  a  day. 


Miscellaneous. 


383 


God  said  in  Heaven,   "  Nor  day  nor 

night 
Kow  brings  the  voice  of  my  delight.'' 

Then  Gabriel,  like  a  rainbow's  birth, 
Spread  his  \m1g3  and  sank  to  earth  ; 

Entered  in  flesh,  the  empty  cell, 
Lived  there  and  played  the  craftsman 
well : 

And  morning,  evening,  noon  and  night. 
Praised  God  in  place  of  Theocrite. 

And  from  a  boy,  to  youth  he  grew  ; 
The  man  put  off  the  stripling's  hue  ; 

The  man  matured  and  fell  away 
Into  the  season  of  decay  ; 

And  ever  o'er  the  trade  he  bent, 
And  ever  lived  on  earth  content. 

(He  did  God's  will ;    to  him  all  one 
If  on  the  earth  or  in  the  sun.) 

God  said,  "  A  praise  is  in  My  ear : 
There  is  no  doubt  in  it,  no  fear ; 

"  So  sing,  old  worlds,  and  so 

New  worlds  that  from  my  footstool  go. 

"  Clearer  loves  sound  other  ways  : 
I  miss  my  little  human  praise." 

Then  forth  sprang  Gabriel's  wings  ;  off 

fell 
The  flesh  disguise,  remained  the  cell. 

Tw  as  Easter  Day  :  he  flew  to  Rome, 
Auil  paused  above  Saint  Peter's  dome. 

In  the  tiring-room  close  by 
The  great  outer  gallery, 

\\ith  his  holy  vestments  dight, 
iStood  the  new  Pope,  Theocrite : 

And  all  his  past  career 
Came  back  upon  him  clear, 

Since  when,  a  boy,  he  plied  his  trade, 
Till  on  his  life  the  sickness  weighed ; 

And  in  his  cell,  wlicn  death  drew  near, 
An  angel  in  a  dream  brought  cheer : 


And  rising  from  the  sickness  drear 
He  grew  a  priest,  and  now  stood  here. 

'J'o  the  East  with  praise  he  turned. 
And  on  his  right  the  angel  burned. 

"  I  bore  thee  from  thy  craftsman's  ceil 
And  set  thee  here  ;    I  did  not  well. 

"  Vainly  I  left  my  angel's  sphere. 
Vain  was  thy  dream  of  many  a  year. 

"  Thy  voice's  praise  seemed  weak  ;    it 

dropped — 
Cieation's  chonis  stopped  { 

"Go  back  and  praise  again 
The  early  way — while  I  remain. 

"  With  that  weak  voice  of  our  disdain. 
Take  up   Creation's   pausing  strain. 

"  Back  to  the  cell  and  poor  employ  : 
Become  the  craftsman  and  the  boy  !  " 

Theocrite  grew  old  at  home  ; 

A  new  Pope  dwelt  in  Peter's  Dome. 

One  vanished  as  the  other  died : 
They  sought  God  side  by  side. 

Robert  Browning. 


ABOXT  BEN  ADHEM  AND  THE 
ANGEL. 

Abott    Ben    Adhem    (may    his    tribe 

(increase 
Awoke  one  night  from  a  deep  dream  of 

peace, 
And  saw,  within  the  moonlight  of  the 

room, 
Making    it   rich,    and    like    a    Hly    in 

bloom, 
An  angel  writing  in  a  book  of  gold  : — 
Exceeding  peace  had  made  Ben  Adlieni 

bold. 
And  to  the  presence  in  the  room  he 

said, 
"  What    writest    thou  ?  "     The    vision 

rais'd  his  head. 
And   with  a  look  made  of  all  sweet 

accord, 
Answer'd,  "The  names  of   those   who 

love  the  Lord." 


384 


Poems  for  Children. 


"  And    is    mine    one  ?  "    said    Abou. 

"  Nay,  not  so," 
Replied  the  angel.     Abou  spoke  more 

low. 
But  oheerly  still ;    and  said  :  "  I  pray 

thee  then, 
Write  me  as  one  that  loves  his  fellow 

men." 

The  angel  wrote,  and  vanish'd.     The 

next  night 
It  came  again  with  a  great  wakening 

hght, 
And  show'd  the  names  whom  love  of 

God  had   bless'd 
And  lo  !  Ben  Adhem's  name  led  all  the 

rest. 

Leigh  Hunt. 


WOIiSEY. 

Cromwell,  I  did  not  think  to  shed  a 

tear 
In    all    my    miseries ;     but   thou    hast 

forced  me 
Out  of  thy  honest  truth  to  play  the 

woman. 
Let's  dry  our  eyes ;   and  thus  far  hear 

me,  Cromwell ; 
And — when  I  am  forgotten,  as  I  shall 

be. 
And  sleep  in  dull  cold  marble,  where 

no  mention 
Of  me  more  must  be  heard  of, — say,  I 

taught  thee ; 
Say,  Wolsey, — that  once  trod  the  ways 

of  glory ,- 
And  sounded  all  the  depths  and  shoals 

of  honour, — 
Found  thee  a  way,  out  of  his  wreck,  to 

rise  in  ; 
A    sure    and    safe    one,    though    thy 

master  miss'd  it. 
Mark  but  my  fall,  and  that  that  ruin'd 

me. 
Cromwell,   I   charge   thee,   fling   away 

ambition  ; 
By  that  sin  fell  the  angels  ;    how  can 

man  then, 
'riiG  image  of  his  Maker,  hope  to  win 

by't? 
Love  thyself  last :  cherish  those  hearts 

that  hate  thee  ; 
Corruption  wins  not  more  than  lionej'ty. 


Still  to  thy  right  hand   carry  gentle 

peace. 
To  silence  envious  tongues.     Be  just 

and  fear  not ; 
Let  all  the  ends  thou  aim'st  at  be  thy 

country's, 
Thy  God's,  and  truth's ;    then  if  thou 

fall'st,   0  Cromwell, 
Thou  fall'st  a  blessed  martyr  ! 

William  SJiakespeare. 


MERCY. 

The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strained  ; 
It  droppeth  as  the  gentle  rain  from 

heaven 
Upon  the  place  bensath  :   it  is  twice 

blessed  ; 
It  blesseth  him  that  gives,  and   him 

that  takes : 
'Tis    mightiest    in    the    mightiest ;    it 

becomes 
The  throned  monarch  better  than  liis 

crown : 
His  sceptre  shows  the  force  of  temporal 

power. 
The  attribute  to  awe  and  majesty, 
Wherein  doth  sit  the  dread  and  fear 

of  kings ; 
But  mercy  is  above  this  sceptred  sway. 
It  is  enthroned  in  the  hearts  of  kings, 
It  is  an  attribute  to  God  himself ; 
An    earthly    power    doth    then    show 

hkest  God's, 
When   mercy   seasons   justice.     Think 

of  this. 
That,  in  the  course  of  justice,  none  of  us 
Should  see  salvation.     We  do  pray  for 

mercy  ; 
And  that  same  prayer  doth  teach  us 

all  to  render 
The  deeds  of  mercy. 

Willinm  Shakespeare. 


"PACK  CLOUDS  AWAY." 

Pack,    clouds,    away !    and    welcome, 
day  ! 
With  night  we  banish  sorrow  : 
Sweet  air,    blow    soft  !     mount,    lark, 
aloft  ! 
To  give  my  Love  good-morrow ; 


Miscellaneous. 


885 


Wings   from  the  wind,   to   please  her 
mind, 
Notes  from  the  lark  I'll  borrow. 
Bird,    prune    thy    wing !    nightingale, 
sing  ! 
To  give  my  Love  good- morrow. 
To  give  my  Love  good-morrow, 
Notes  from  them  all  I'll  borrow. 

Wake  from  thy  nest,  robin  redbreast ! 

Sing,   birds,   in   every  furro\\'  ! 
And  from  each  hill  let  music  shrill 

Give  my  fair  Love  good-morrow. 
Blackbird  and  thrush,  in  every  bush — 

Stare,  linnet,  and  cock-sparrow. 
You  pretty  elves — amongst  yoursehes 

Sing  my  fair  Love  good-morrow  ! 

To  give  my  Love  good-morro^^> 

Sing,  birds,  in  every  furrow  ! 

Thomas  Heyicood. 


HOME    THEY    BROUGHT    HIIR 
WARRIOR  DEAD. 

Home  they  brought  her  warrior  dead ; 

She  nor  swoon'd  nor  utter'd  cry  ; 
All  her  maidens,  watching,  said, 

"  She  must  weep  or  she  will  die." 

Then  they  praised  him,  soft  and  low, 
Call'd  him  wortiiy  to  be  loved. 

Truest  friend  and  noblest  foe ; 
Yet  she  neither  spoke  nor  moved. 

Stole  a  maiden  from  her  place, 
Lightly  to  the  warrior  stept. 

Took  the  face-cloth  from  the  face; 
Yet  she  neither  moved  nor  wept. 

Rose  a  nurse  of  ninety  years. 
Set  his  child  iipon  her  knee — 

Like  summer  tempest  came  her  tears — ■ 
"  Sweet,  my  child,  I  live  for  thee." 

Lord  Tenmjson. 


ON   THE   RECEIPT    OF   MY 
MOTHER'S  PICTURE. 

Oh  that  those  lips  had  language  !     Life 

has  passed 
With  me  but  roughly  since  I  heard  thee 

last. 


Tlioso  li^js  are  thine — thy  o^vn    sweet 

smiles  I  see. 
The  same,  that  oft  in  childhood  solaced 

me  ; 
Voice  only  fails,  else,  how  distinct  they 

say, 
"  CJrieve  not,  my  child,  chase  all  thy 

fears  away  !  " 


My  Mother!  wlicn  I  learned  that  thou 

wast  dead. 
Say,  wast  thou  conscious  of  the  tea  is 

i  shod  ? 
Hovered  thy  spirit  o'er  thy  sorrowing 

son, 
Wretch  even  then,   life's  journey  just 

begun  ? 
Perhaps  thou  gavest  me,  though  unseen, 

a  kiss  ; 
Perhaps  a  tear,  if  souls  can  weep  in 

bliss — 
Ah.  that  maternal  smile  !     It  answers — 

Yes. 
I  heard  thy  bell  tolled  on  thy  burial 

(lay, 
I  saw  the  hearse,  that  bore  thee  slow 

away  ; 
And,  turning  from  my  nursery  winiluw, 

drew 
A  long,  long   sigh,    and    wept    a    last 

adieu  ! 
But    was    it    such  ? — It    was.     Where 

thou  art  gone, 
Adieus    and    farewells    are    a    sound 

unknown. 
May  I  but  meet  thee  on  that  peaceful 

shore. 
The  parting  sound  shall  pass  my  lips  no 

moi'e  ! 
Thy    maidens,    grieved    themselves    at 

my  concern. 
Oft  gave  me  promise  of  a  quick  return. 
What  ardently   I   wished,   I   long    be- 
lieved. 
And,     disappointed     still,     was     still 

deceived. 
By  disappointment  every  day  beguiled. 
Dupe  of  to-morrow  even  from  a   child. 
Thus  many  a  sad  to-morrow  came  and 

Avent, 
Till  all  ray  stock  of  infant  sorrow  spent, 
I  learned  at  last  submission  to  my  lot. 
But  though  I  less  deplored  thee,  ne'er 

forgot. 

Where  once  we  dwelt  our  name  ia 
heard  no  more, 

25 


386 


Poems  for  Children. 


Children    not    thine    have    trod    my 

nursery  floor ; 
And  where  the  gardener  Robin,   day 

by  day, 
Drew  me  to  school  along  the  public  way, 
Delighted  with  my  bauble  coach,  and 

wrapt 
In   scarlet  mantle   warm,   and   velvet 

capt, 
'Tis  now  become  a  history  little  known. 
That  once  we  called  the  pastoral  house 

our  own. 
Short-lived  possession  !  but  the  record 

fair. 
That  memory  keeps  of  all  thy  kindness 

there, 
Still  outlives  many  a  storm,  that  has 

effaced 
A  thousand  other  themes  less  deeply 

traced. 
Thy    nightly    visits    to    my    chamber 

made. 
That  thou  mightest  know  me  safe  and 

warmly  laid ; 
Thy  morning    bounties  ere   I  left    my 

home, 
The  biscuit,  or  confectionery  plum  ; 
The    fragrant    waters    on    my    cheeks 

bestowed 
By  thy  own  hand,  till  fresh  they  shone 

and  glowed  ; 
All  this,  and  more  endearing  still  than 

all. 
Thy  constant  flow  of  love,  that  knew 

no  fall. 
Ne'er  roughened  by  those  cataracts  and 

breaks. 
That    humour    interposed    too    often 

makes  ; 
All  this  still  legible  in  memory's  page, 
And  still  to  be  so  to  my  latest  age, 
Adds  joy  to  duty,  makes  me  glad  to  pay 
Such  honours  to  thee  as  my  numbers 

may; 
Perhaps  a  frail  memorial,  but  sincere. 
Not  scorned  in  heaven,  though  little 

noticed  here. 

Could  time,  his  flight  reversed,  restore 
the  hours. 
When,     playing     with     thy     vestiu-e's 

tissued  flowers. 
The  violet,  the  pink,  and  jessamine, 
I  pricked  them  into  paper  with  a  pin 
(And  thou  wast  happier  than   myself 

the  while, 
Wouldst  softly  speak,  and  stroke  my 

head,  and  smile). 


Could  those   few   pleasant  hours  again 

appear, 
Might  one  wish  bring  them,  would  I 

wish  them  here  ? 
I  would  not  trust  my  heart — the  dear 

dehght 
Seems    to    be   so    desired,    perhaps    I 

might. — 
But  no — what  here  we  call  our  Ufe  is 

such. 
So  httle  to  be  loved,  and  thou  so  much. 
That    I    should    ill    requite    thee    to 

constrain 
Thy  unbound  spirit  into  bonds  again. 


William  Cotiyper. 


THE  COMPIiAINTS  OF 
THE  POOR. 

"  And    wherefore    do   the   poor   com  ■ 
plain  ?  " 

The  rich  man  asked  of  me  ; — 
"  Come  walk  abroad  with  me,"  I  said, 

"  And  I  will  answer  thee." 

'Twas  evening,  and  the  frozen  streets 

Were  cheerless  to  behold. 
And  we  were  wrapt  and  coated  well. 

And  yet  we  were  a- cold. 

We  met  an  old  bare-headed  man. 
His  locks  were  few  and  white, 

I  ask'd  him  what  he  did  abroad 
In  that  cold  winter's  night. 

'Twas  bitter  keen,  indeed,  he  said, 
But  at  home  no  fire  had  he. 

And  therefore  he  had  come  abroad 
To  ask  for  charity. 

We  met  a  young  barefooted  child, 
And  she  begged  loud  and  bold  ; 

I  ask'd  her  what  she  did  abroad 
When  the  wind  it  blew  so  cold. 

She  said  her  father  was  at  home, 

And  he  lay  sick  in  bed. 
And  therefore  was  it  she  was  scut 

Abroad  to  beg  for  bread. 

We  saw  a  woman  sitting  down 
Upon  a  stone  to  rerit, 


Miscellaneous. 


387 


She  had  a  baby  at  her  back 
And  another  at  her  breast. 

I  ask'd  her  why  she  loiter'd  there. 
When  the  night- wind  was  so  chill  ;  — 

She  turned  her  head  and  bade  the  child 
That  screani'd  behind  be  still. 

She  told  U3  that  her  husband  served, 

A  soldier,  far  away, 
And  therefore  to  her  parish  she 

Was  begging  back  her  way. 

I  turn'd  me  to  the  rich  man  then, 

For  silently  stood  he, — 
"  You   ask'd   me   why  the   poor  com- 
plain. 

And  these  have   answered  thee  !  " 

Robert  Sonthei/. 


THE    ORPHAN   BOY. 

Stay,  lady,  stay  !  for  mercy's  sake, 
And   hear  a  helpless  orphan's  tale  ! 

Ah  !  sure  my  looks  must  pity  wake, — 
'Tis  want    that  makes  my  cheek  so 
pale. 

Yet  I  was  once  a  mother's  pride. 
And  my  brave  father's  hope  and  joy  ; 

But  in  the  Nile's  proud  fight  he  died. 
And  I  am  now  an  orphan  boy. 

Poor  foolish  child — how  pleased  was  I 
\A'hen  news  of  Nelson's  victory  came. 

Along  the  crowded  streets  to  fly. 
And  see  the  hghted  windows  flame  1 

To  force  me  home  my  mother  sought. 
She  could  not  bear  to  see  my  joy  ; 

For  with  my  father's  Ufe  'twas  bought. 
And  made  me  a  poor  orphan  boy  I 

The  people's  shouts  were  long  and  loud. 

My   mother,   shuddering,   closed  her 

ears  ; 

"  Rejoice  !    rejoice  !  "    still    cried    the 

crowd  ; 

My  mother  answered  with  her  tears. 

"  Why  are  you  crying  so  ?  "  said  I, 
"  While  others  laugh  and  shout  with 
joy  ?  " 


She  kissed  me— and  with  such  a  sigh  ! 
She  called  me  her  poor  orphan  boy. 

"  What  ui  an  orphan  boy  ?  "  I  cried, 
As  in  her  face  I  looked,  and  smiled  ; 

My  mother  through  her  tears,  replied, 
"  You'll    know    too    soon,    ill-fated 
child  !  " 

And  now  they've  tolled  my  mother's 
knell. 
And  I'm  no  more  a  parent's  joy  ; 
0  lady,  I  have  learned  too  well 
What  'tis  to  be  an  orphan  boy  ! 
Amelia   Opie. 


THE  ORPHANS   SONO. 

I  HAD  a  little  bird, 

I  took  it  from  the  nest ; 
I  prest  it  and  blest  it. 

And  nurst  it  in  my  breast. 

I  set  it  on  the  ground, 
I  danced  roimd  and  round. 
And  sang  about  it  so  cheerly. 

With   "  Hey,  my  little  bird,  and   ho  ! 
my  Uttle  bird, 

And  oh !  but  I  love  thee  dearly  1  " 

I  make  a  little  feast 

Of  food  soft  and  sweet, 
I  hold  it  in  my  breast. 

And  coax  it  to  eat ; 

I  pit,  and  I  pat, 

I  call  this  and  that. 

And  I  sing  about  so  cheerly, 

With  "  Hey,  my  httle  bird,  and  ho  ! 
my  little  bird. 

And  ho  I  but  I  love  thee  dearly." 

Sydney  Dobell. 


AH  I    BLEAK    AND    BARREN 
WAS  THE  MOOR 

Ah  !  bleak  and  barren  was  the  moor. 
Ah !    loud    and    piercing    was    the 
storm  ; 
The  cottage  roof  was  sheltered  sure. 
The  cottage  hearth  was  bright  and 
warm. 

25* 


388 


Poems  for  Children. 


An  orphan-boy  the  lattice  pass'd, 
And,  as  he  marked  its  cheerful  glow. 

Felt  doubly  keen  the  midnight  lilast. 
And  doubly  cold  the  fallen  snow. 

They  marked  him  as  he  onward  press'd. 

With  fainting  heart  and  weary  limb  ; 
Kind  voices  bade  him  turn  and  rest, 

And  gentle  faces  welcomed  him. 
The  dawn  is  up — the  guest  is  gone. 

The  cottage  hearth  is  blazing  still : 
Heaven  pity  all  poor  wanderers  lone  ! 

Hark  to  the  wind  upon  the  hill. 

Williatn  Makepeace  Thackeray. 


THE  PIIiGRIM. 

Who  would  true  valour  see. 

Let  him  come  hither  ! 
One   here  will   constant  be. 

Come  wind,  come  weather ; 
There's  no  discouragement 
Shall  make  him  once  relent 
His  flint-avow'd  intent 

To  be  a  Pilgrim. 

Whoso  beset  him  round 

With  dismal  stories, 
])(j  but  themselves  confound; 

His  strength  the  more  is. 
No  lion  can  him  fright ; 
He'll  with  a  giant  fight ; 
But  he  will  have  a  right 

To  be  a  Pilgrim. 

Nor  enemy,  nor  friend. 

Can  daunt  his  spirit ; 
He  knows  he  at  the  end 

Shall  Life  inherit : — ■ 
Then,   fancies,  fly  away  ; 
He'll  not  fear  what  men  say  ; 
He'll  labour,  night  and  day. 

To  be  a  Pilgrim. 

John  Bunyan. 


THE  DREAMER. 

Bring  not  bright  candles,  for  her  eyes 
In  twilight  have  sweet  company  ; 

Bring  not  bright  candles  else  they  lly, 
Her  pliantoms  fly, 

Cia/iii>!  agL'rieved  on  thee. 


Bring  not  bright  caudles  ;  startle  not 
The  phantoms  of  a  vacant  room 

Flocking  above  a  child  that  dreams- 
Deep,  deep,  in  dreams, 

Hid  in  the  gathering  gloom. 

Bring  not  bright  candles  to  those  eyes 
That  between  earth  and  stars  descry. 

Lovelier  for  the  shadows  there. 
Children  of  air, 

Palaces  in  the  sky. 

Walter  Ramal. 


IF  I  HAD  BTJT  TWO  LITTLE 
WINGS. 

If  I  had  but  two  little  wings 
And  were  a  little  feathery  bird. 
To  you  I'd  fly,  my  dear  ! 
But  thoughts  like  these  are  idle  things 
And  I  stay  here. 

But  in  my  sleep  to  you  I  fly : 

I'm  always  with  j'ou  in  my  sleep  ! 
The  world  is  all  one's  own. 
But  then  one  wakes,  and  where  am  I  ? 
All,  all  alone. 

Sleep  stays  not,  though  a  monarch  bids  : 
So  I  love  to  wake  ere  break  of  day  : 
For  though  my  sleep  be  gone, 
Yet  while  'tis  dark,  one  shuts  one's  lids, 
And  still  dreams  on. 

S.  T.  Coleridge. 


THE  LAND  OF  DREAMS. 

"Awake,  awake,  my  little  boy! 
Thou  wast  thy  mother's  only  joy  ; 
Why   dost   thou    weep   in    thy   gentle 

sleep  1 
O  wake  !    thy  father  does  thee  keep." 

"  0  what  land  is  thy  Land  of  Dreams  ? 
What  are  its  mountains,  and  wliat  a  to 
its  streams  ? 

0  father  !  I  saw  my  mother  there. 
Among  the  lilies  by  waters  fair. 

"  Among  the  lambs,  clothM  in  white. 
She  walk'd  with  her  Thomas  in  sweet 
delight ; 

1  wept  for  joy  ;  like  a  dove  I  mourn  : 
0  when  shall  I  again  return  !  " 


Miscellaneous. 


389 


•*  Dear    Child !     I    also    by    pleasant 

streams 
Have  wander'd  all  night  by  the  Land  of 

Dreams  : 
But  though  calm  and  warm  the  waters 

wide, 
I  could  not  get  to  the  other  side." 

"  Father,  0  father  !    what  do  we  here, 
In  this  land  of  unbelief  and  fear  ? 
The  Land  of  Dreams  is  better  far. 
Above  the  light  of  the  morning  star." 

Williavi  Blake. 


THE  DIVINE   IMAGE. 
To  Mercy,  Pity,  Peace  and  Love, 

All  pray  in  their  distress, 
And  to  these  virtues  of  delight 

Return  their  thankfulness. 

For  Mercy,  Pity,  Peace  and  Love, 

Is  God  our  Father  dear  ; 
And  Mercy,  Pity,  Peace  and  Love 

Is  man,  his  child  and  care. 

For  Mercy  has  a  human  heart. 

Pity,  a  human  face  ; 
And  Love,  the  human  form  divine ; 

And  Peace,  the  human  dress. 

Then  every  man,  of  every  clime. 
That  prays  in  his  distress, 

Prays  to  the  human  form  divine, 
Love,  Mercy,  Pity,  Peace. 


form. 


And  all  must  love  the  human 
In  heathen,  Turk,  or  Jew, 

Where  Mercy,  Love,  and  Pity  dwell. 
There  God  is  dwelling  too. 

William   Blake. 


A  liOST  CHOBD. 

Seated  one  day  at  the  Organ, 
I  was  weary  and  ill  at  ease. 

And  my  fingers  wandered  idly 
Over  the  noisy  keys. 

I  do  not  know  what  I  was  playing, 
Or  what  I  W£i3  dreaming  then  ; 

But  I  struck  one  chord  of  music. 
Like  the  sound  of  a  great  Ameo. 


It  flooded  the  crimson  twilight, 
Like  the  close  of  an  Angel's  Psalm, 

And  it  lay  on  my  fevered  spirit. 
With  a  touch  of  infinite  calm. 

It  quieted  pain  and  sorrow. 
Like  love  overcoming  strife ; 

It  seemed  the  harmonious  echo. 
From  our  discordant  life. 

It  linked  all  perplexed  meanings, 

Into  one  perfect  peace. 
And  trembled  away  in  silence, 

As  if  it  were  loth  to  cease. 

I  have  sought  but  I  seek  it  vainly, 

That  one  lost  chord  divine. 
Which  came  from  the  soul  of  the  Organ, 

And  entered  into  mine. 

It  may  be  that  Death's  bright  angel. 
Will  speak  in  that  chord  again — 

It  may  be  that  only  in  Heaven, 
I  shall  hear  that  grand  Amen. 

Adelaide  Anne  Procter 


THE  BEIiliS. 

L 

Hear  the  sledges  with  the  bella — 

Silver    bells  ! 

What   a   world    of    merriment     their 

melody   foretells  ! 

How   they,    tinkle    tinkle,    tinkle. 

In  the  icy  air  of  night ! 
While  the  stars  that  oversprinkle 
All  the  heavens  seem  to  twinkle 
With  a  crystalline  delight ; 
Keeping  time,  time,  time. 
In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme. 
To      the      tintinabulation      that     so 
musically  swells 
From  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bella 

Bells,  bells,  bells— 
From  the  jingling  and  the  tinkling 
of  the  bells. 

IL 

Hear   the   mellow   wedding   bells. 
Golden    bells  ! 
What     a    world    of    happiness    their 
harmony  foretells  ! 
Through  the  balmy  air  of  night 
How  they  ring  out  their  delight  { — 


390 


Poems   for  Children. 


From    the    molten    golden    notes. 

And    all    in    tune, 
What  a  liquid  ditty  floats 
To      the      turtle-dove      that     listens, 
while   she   gloats 

On  the  moon  ! 
Oh,  from  out  the  sounding  cells, 
What     a     gush     of     euphony      volu- 
minously wells  ! 

How  it  swells 
How  it  dwells 
On   the   Future;    how   it   tells 
Of    the    rapture    that    impels 
To  the  swinging  and  the  ringing 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells. 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells, 
Bells,  bells,  bells— 
To   the  rhyming  and    the  chiming  of 
the  bells  | 

ni. 

Hear    the    loud    alarum    bells^ 
Brazen  bells  ! 
What    a    tale    qf    terror    now,    their 
turbulency    tells  ; 

In  the  startled   air  of  night 
How  they  scream  out  their  affright } 
Too  much  horrified  to  speak 
They  can  only  sliriek,  shriek. 
Out  of  tune, 
In  the  clamorous  appealing  to  the  mercy 

of    the    fire. 
In   the    mad    expostulation   with    the 
deaf   and   frantic   fire. 
Leaping    higher,    higher,     higher. 
With  a  desperate  desire. 

And     a    resolute     endeavour 
Now — now   to  sit  or  never. 
By  the  side  of  the  pale-faced  moon. 
Oh,   the   bells,    bells,    bells! 
What  a  tale  their  tenor  tells 
of  Despair  ! 
How  they  clang  and  crash  and  roar  ! 
What  a  horror  they  out  pour 
On  the  bosom  of  the  palpitating  air  ! 
Yet   the   air   it   fully   knows. 
By  the  twanging. 
And  the  clanging. 
How  the  danger  ebbs   and  flo\\'s  ; 
Yet   the   air   distinctly   tells. 
In    the    jangling, 
And  the  wrangling. 
How  the  danger  sinks  and  swells. 
By  the  sinking  or  the  swelling  in  the 
anger  of  the  bells — 

Of  the  bells— 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells, 


Bells,  bells,  bells— 
In  the  clamor  and  the  clangor  of  the 
bells  1 

IV. 

Hear   the    tolling    of   the   bells — 
Iron  bells  ! 
What    a    world    of     solemn     thought 
their    melody    compels  ! 

In   the  silence   of   the   night. 

How  we  shiver  with  affright 

At  the  melancholy  menace  of  their  tone ! 

For  every  sound   that  floats 

From  the  rust  within  their  throats 

Is  a  groan. 

And  the  people — ah,   the  people — 

They  that  dwell  up  in  the  steeple, 

All  alone. 
And  who  tolling,  tolling,  tolling, 
In  that  muffled  monotone, 
Feel  a  glory  in  the  rolling 
On  the  human  heart  a  stone — ■ 
They  are  neither  man  nor  woman — 
They  are  neithe  •  brute  nor  human 
They  are  Ghouls  : 
And  their  king  it  is  who  tolls  ; 
And  he  rolls,  rolls,  rolls, 

Rolls. 
A  paean  from  the  bells  ! 
And  his  merry  bosom  swells 
With  the  psean  from  the  bells  ! 
And  he  dances  and  he  yells ; 
Keeping  time,  time,  time. 
In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme. 
To  the  throbbing  of  the  bells— 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells— 
To  the  sobbing  of  the  bells ; 

Keeping  time,  time,  time. 
As  he  knells,  knells,  knells, 
In  a  happy  Runic  rhyme. 
To  the  rolling  of  the  bells^» 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells— 
To  the  tolling  of  the  bells. 
Of  the  bells,   bells,   bells,   bells- 
Bells,  bells,  bells— 
To    the    moaning   and    the     groaning 
of  the  bells. 

Edgar  Allan  Poe. 


MUSIC. 
For  do  but  note  a  wild  and  wanton 

herd 
Or  race   of    youthful   and   uohandled 

oolts, 


Miscellaneous. 


391 


Fetching   mad  bounds,  bellowing   and 

neighing  loud, 
Which   is   the   hot   condition   of   their 

blood  ; 
If  they  but  hear  perchance  a  trumpet 

sound. 
Or  any  air  of  music  touch  their  ears, 
fou     shall     perceive     them     make     a 

mutual  stand, 
Their  savage  eyes  turn'd  to  a  modest 

gaze 
By  the  sweet  power  of  music  ;    there- 
fore the  poet 
Did    feign    that    Orpheus   drew   trees, 

stones  and  flood  ; 
Since   naught  so   stockish,    hard,    and 

full  of  rage. 
But  music  for  the  time  doth  change  his 

nature. 
The  man  that  hath  no  music  in  himself. 
Nor   is   not    moved    with    concord    of 

sweet  sounds. 
Is   lit    for    treasons,   stratagems,    and 

spoils  ; 
The  motions  of  his  spirit  are  dull  as 

night. 
And  his  affections  dark  as  Erebus  : 
Let  no  such  man  be  trusted. 

William  Shakespeare. 


POWER   OF  MUSIC. 

An  Orpheus  !  an  Orpheus  | — yet.  Faith 

may  grow  bold. 
And  take  to  herself  all  the  wonders  of 

old; 
Near  the  stately  Pantheon  you'll  meet 

with  the  same 
In  the  street  that  from  Oxford  hath 

borrowed  its  name. 

His  station  is  there  : — and  he  works  on 

the  crowd. 
He  sways  tliem  with  harmony  merry 

and  loud  ; 
He  fills  with  his  power  all  their  hearts 

to  the  brim — 
Was  aught  ever  heard  like  his  Fiddle 

and  him  ? 

What   an   eager   assembly !     what   an 

empire  is  this  ! 
The  weary  have  life,  and  the  hungry 

have  bliss  ; 
The  mourner  is  cheered,  and  the  anxious 

have  rest ; 


And  the  guilt-bnrthened  soul  is  no 
longer  opprest. 

As  the  moon  brightens  round  her  the 
clouds  of  the  niglit. 

So  he,  where  he  stands,  is  a  centre  of 
light ; 

It  gleams  on  the  face,  there,  of  dusty- 
browed  Jack, 

And  the  pale-visaged  Baker's,  with 
basket  on  back. 

That  errand-bound  'Prentice  was  pass- 
ing in  haste — 

What  matter  !  he'a  caught — and  his 
time  runs  to  waste — 

The  Newsman  is  stopped,  though  he 
stops  on  the  fret. 

And  the  half-breathless  Lamplighter — 
he's  in  the  net ! 

The  Porter  sits  down  on  the  weight 

which  he  bore  ; 
The    Lass    with    her    barrow    wheels 

hither  her  store  ; 
If  a  thief  could  be  here  he  might  pilfer 

at  ease  ; 
She  sees  the  Musician,  'tis  all  that   she 

sees  I 

He  stands,  backed   by  the  wall ; — he 

abates  not  his  din  ; 
His  hat  gives  him  vigour,  with  boons 

dropping  in. 
From  the  old  and  the  young,  from  the 

poorest ;  and  there 
The  one-pennied  Boy  has  his  penny  to 

spare. 

0  blest  are  the  hearers,  and  proud  be 
the  hand 

Of  the  pleasure  it  spreads  through 
so  thankful  a  band  ; 

1  am  glad  for  him,  blind  as  he  is  ! — all 
the  while 

If  they  speak  'tis  to  praise,  and  they 
praise  with  a  smile. 

That  tall  Man,  a  giant  in  bulk  and  in 

height 
Not  an  inch  of  his  body  is  free  from 

delight ; 
Can  he  keep  himself  still,  if  he  would  7 

oh,  not  he  ! 
The  music  stirs  in  him  like  wind  through 

a  tree. 
Mark  that  Cripple  who  leans  on  his 

crutch  ;    like  a  tower 


392 


Poems  for  Children. 


That  long  lias  leaned   forward,   leans 

hour  after  hour  I 
That  Mother,  whose  spirit  in  fetters  is 

bound. 
While  she  dandles  the  Babe  in  her  arms 

to  the  sound. 

Now,   coaches  and  chariots  !    roar  on 

like  a  stream  ; 
Here  are  twenty  souls  happy  as  souls 

in  a  dream  : 
They  are  deaf  to  your  murmurs — they 

care  not  for  you, 
Nor  what  ye  are  flying,  nor  what  ye 

pursue  ! 

William  Wordsworth. 


KUBIiA  KHAN. 

In  Xanadu  did  Kubla  Khan 
A  stately  pleasure-dome  decree  : 
Where  Alph,  the  sacred  river,  ran 
Through  caverns  measureless  to  man 

Down  to  a  sunless  sea. 
So  twice  five  miles  of  fertile  ground 
With   walls    and   towers   were   girdled 

round : 
And  there  were  gardens   bright   with 

sinuous  rills 
Where    blossomed    many   an   incense - 

bearing   tree  ; 
And  here  were  forests  ancient  as  the 

hills. 
Enfolding  sunny  spots  of  greenery. 

But  oh  !    that  deep  romantic  chasm 

which  slanted 
Down  the  green  hill  :  thwart  a  cedarn 

cover ! 
A  savage  place  !  as  holy  and  enchanted 
As  e'er  beneath  a  waning  moon  was 

haunted 
By  woman  wailing  for  her  demon-lover  ! 
And  from  this  chasm,  with    ceaseless 

turmoil    seething, 
As  if  this  earth  in  fast  thick  pants  were 

trcathin  ; 
A    mighty    fountain    momently    was 

forced  : 
Amid     who  e     swift     half-intermitted 

burst 
Huge  fragments  vaulted  like  rebounding 

hail, 
Or  chaffy  grain  beneath  the  thresher's 

flail : 


And  'mid  these  dancing  rocks  at  once 

and  ever 
It  flung  up  momently  the  sacred  river. 
Five   miles   meandering  with  a  mazy 

motion 
Through    wood    and    dale   the   sacred 

river  ran. 
Then  reached  the  caverns  measureless 

to  man, 
And  sank  in  tumult  to  a  hfeless  ocean  : 
And    'mid    this    tumult    Kubla    heard 

from  far 
Ancestral  voices  prophesying  war  ! 

The  shadow  of  the  dome  of  pleasure 
Floated  midway  on  the  waves  ; 
Where    was    heard    the    mingled 

measure 
From  the  fountain  and  the  caves. 
It  was  a  miracle  of  rare  device, 
A  sunny  pleasure-dome  with  caves  of 
ice  ! 
A  damsel  with  a  dulcimer 
In  a  vision  once  I  saw  : 
It  was  an  Abyssinian  maid. 
And  on  her  dulcimer  she  played. 
Singing  of  Mount  Abora. 
Could  I  revive  within  me 
Her  symphony  and  song. 
To   siich   a  deep  delight   'twould 
win  me 
That  with  music  loud  and  long, 
I  would  build  that  dome  in  air. 
That  sunny  dome  !    those  caves  of  ice  ! 
And   all   who   heard  should  see  them 

there. 
And  all  should  cry.  Beware  !   Beware  ! 
His  flashing  eyes,  his  floating  hair  ! 
Weave  a  circle  round  him  thrice. 
And  close  your  eyes  with  holy  dread. 
For  he  on  honey-dew  hath  fed. 
And  di'unk  the  milk  of  Paradise. 

8.  T.  Coleridge. 


THE  HAUNTED  PALACE. 

In  the  greenest  of  our  valleys, 

By  good  angels  tenanted. 
Once  a  fair  and  stately  palace — 

Radiant  palace — reared  its  head. 
In  the  monarch  Thought's  dominion — 

It  stood  there  ! 
Never  seraph  spread  a  pinion 

Over  fabric  half  so  fair 


Miscellaneous. 


303 


Banner  3'ellow,  glorious,  golden, 

On  its  roof  did  float  and  How  ; 
(This — all  this — was  in  the  olden 

Time  long  ago) 
And  every  gentle  air  that  dallied. 

In  that  sweet  day. 
Along  the  ramjiarts  plumed  and  pallid, 

A  wing(id  odour  went  away. 

Wanderers  in  that  happy  valley 

Through  two  luminous  windows  saw 
Spirits  moving  musically 

To  the  lute's  weU-tuned  law, 
Round  about  a  throne  were  sitting 

(Porphyrogene  !) 
In  state  his  glory  well  befitting. 

The  ruler  of  the  realm  was  seen. 

And  all  with  pearl  and  ruby  glowing 

AVas  the  fair  palace  door. 
Through  which  came  flowing,  flowing, 
flowing. 

And  sparlding  c  vermore, 
A  troup  of  Echoes  whose  sweet  duty 

Was  but  to  sing, 
In  voices  of  surpassing  beauty. 

The  wit  and  wisdom  of  their  king. 

But  evil  things  in  robes  of  sorrow. 

Assailed  the  monarch's  high  estate  ; 
(Ah  !  let  us  mourn,  for  never  morrow 

Shall  dawn  upon  him  desolate  !) 
And  round  about  his  home,  the  glory 

That  blushed  and  bloomed 
Is  but  a  dim  remembered  story 

Of  the  old  time  entombed. 

And  travellers  now  within  that  valley, 

Tlu'ough  the  red-litten  windows,  see 
Vast  forms  that  move  fantastically 

To  a  discordant  melody  ; 
While  like  a  rapid  gh  stly  river, 

Through  the  pale  dooi-, 
A  hideous  throng  rush  out  forever. 

And  laugh — but  smile  no  more. 

Edgar  Allan  Pue. 


White  as  a  sea-fog,  landward  bound, 
The  spectral  camp  was  seen. 

And  with  a  sorrowful  deep  sound. 
The  river  flow'd  between. 

No  other  voice  nor  sound  was  there. 
No  drum,  nor  sentry's  pace  ; 

The  mist-like  banners  clasp'd  tiic  air. 
As  clouds  with  clouds  embrace. 

But  when  the  old  cathedral  bell 
Proclaim'd  the  morning  prayer, 

The  wild  pavilions  rose  and  fell. 
On  the  alarmed  air. 

Down  the  broad  valley  fast  and  far. 

The  troubled   army   fled  ; 
Up  rose  the  glorious  morning  star, 

The  ghastly  host  was  dead. 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


TO   A   RIVER    IN    WHICH    A 
CHILD  WAS  DROWNED. 

SJiiLraG  river,  smiling  river. 
On  thy  bosom  sunbeams  play  : 

Though  they're  fleeting  and  retreating, 
Thou  hast  more  deceit  than  they. 

In  thy  channel,  in  thy  channel. 

Choked  with  ooze  and  gravelly  stones. 

Help  immersed  and  unhearsed. 

Lies    young     Edward's    corse :    his 
bones. 

Ever  whitening,  ever  whitening. 
As  thy  waves  against  them  dash  ; 

What  thy  torrent  in  the  current 
Swallowed,  now  it  helps  to  wash. 

As  if  senseless,  as  if  senseless 

Things  had  feeling  in  this  case  ; 

What  so  blindly,  and  unkindly. 
It  destroyed,  it  now  does  grace. 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamb. 


THE  BEIiEAQUERED  CITY. 

Beside  the  Moldau's  rushing  stream. 
With  the  wan  moon  overhead 

There  stood,  as  in  an  awful  dream. 
The  army  of  the  dead. 


THE  BIRD  AND  THE  SHIP. 

"  The  rivers  rush  into  the  sea. 
By  castle  and  by  town  they  go  ; 

The  winds  behind  them  merrily 
Their  noisy  trumpets  blow. 


394 


Poems  for  Children. 


"  The  clouds  are  passing  far  and  high, 
We  little  birds  in  them  play  ; 

And  everything  that  can  sing  and  fly 
Goes  with  us,  and  far  away. 

"  I  greet  thee,   bonny  boat !   Whither 
or  whence. 
With  thy  fluttering  golden  band  ?  " — 
"  I  greet  thee,  little  bird  !   To  the  wide 
sea 
I  haste  from  the  narrow  land. 

"  FuU  and  swollen  is  every  sail ; 

I  see  no  longer  a  hill, 
I  have  trusted  all  to  the  sounding  gale, 

And  it  will  not  let  me  stand  still. 

"  And  wilt  thou,  little  bird,  go  with  us  ? 

Thou  mayest  stand  on  the  mainmast 
tall, 
For  fuU  to  sinking  is  my  house 

With  merry  companions  aU." 

•"  I  need  not  and  seek  not  company. 
Bonny  boat,  I  can  sing  aU  alone  ; 

For  the  mainmast  tall  too  heavy  am  I, 
Bonny  boat,  I  have  wings  of  my  own. 

"  High  over  the  sails,   high  over  the 
mast, 
Who  shall  gainsay  these  joys  ? 
When  thy  merry  companions  are  still 
at  last. 
Thou  shalt  hear  the  sound   of   my 
voice. 

"  Who    neither   may   rest,    nor   listen 
may, 

God  bless  them,  every  one  ! 
I  dart  away,  in  the  bright  blue  day. 

And  the  golden  fields  of  the  sun. 

"  Thus  do  I  sing  my  weary  song, 
Wherever  the  four  winds  blow  ; 

And    this   same   song,    my   whole   life 
long, 
Neither  poet  nor  printer  may  know." 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfdlow. 


"SWEET  IS  THE  DEW  THAT 
FALLS   BETIMES  ■' 
Sweet  is  the  dew  that  falls  betimes. 
And  drops  upon  the  leafy  limes  ; 
Sweet  Hermon's  fragrant  air  : 


Sweet  is  the  lily's  silver  bell. 
And  sweet  the  wakeful  tapers  suell 
That  watch  for  early  prayer. 

Sweet    the    young    nurse,    with    love 

intense. 
Which  smiles  o'er  sleeping  innocence ; 

Sweet  when  the  lost  arrive  : 
Sweet  the  musician's  ardour  beats. 
While   his   vague   mind's  in   quest   of 
sweets. 
The  choicest  flowers  to  hive. 

Strong  is  the  horse  upon  his  speed  ; 
Strong  in  pursuit  the  rapid  glede. 

Which  makes  at  once  his  game  : 
Strong  the  tall  ostrich  on  the  ground  ; 
Strong  through  the  turbulent  profound 

Shoots  xiphias  to  his  aim. 

Strong  is  the  lion — like  a  coal 
His  eyeball— like  a  bastion's  mole 

His  chest  against  the  foes : 
Strong  the  gier-eagle  on  his  sail ; 
Strong  against  tide  the  enormous  whale 

Emerges  as  he  goes. 

]3ut  stronger  stiU,  in  earth  and  air. 
And  in  the  sea,  the  man  of  prayer. 

And  far  beneath  the  tide  : 
And  in  the  seat  of  Faith  assiga'd, 
Where   ask  is,  have ;    where  seek  is, 
find; 

Where  knock  is,  open  wide. 

Christopher  Smart. 


WISHES. 

Laid   in   my   quiet    bed,   in   study   a^ 

I  were, 
I    saw    within    my    troubled    head    a 

heap  of  thoughts  appear. 
And  every  thought  did  show  so  lively 

in  mine  eyes. 
That  now  I  sighed,  and  then  I  smiled, 

as  cause  of  thoughts  did  rise. 
I  saw  the  little  boy,  in  thought  how 

oft  that  he 
Did  wish  of  God,  to  'scape  the  rod,  a 

tall  young  man  to  be  ; 
Tile  young  man  eke  that  feels  his  bone=! 

with  pain  opprest, 
How  he  would  be  a  rich  old   man,  to 

live  and  lie  at  rest ! 


Miscellaneous. 


39.0 


The  rich  old  man,  that  sees  his  end 

draw  on  so  sore. 
How  would  he  be  a  boy  again  to  live 

so  much  the  more. 
Whereat  full  oft  I  smiled  to  see  how 

all  those  three. 
From  boy  to  man,  from  man  to  boy, 

would  chop  and  change  degree. 

Earl  of  Surrey. 


BliOW,   BLOW,  THOtr  WINTER 
WIND. 
Blow,  blow,  thou  wint«r  wind, 
Thou  art  not  so  unkind 
As  man's  ingratitude  ; 
Thy  tooth  is  not  so  keen. 
Because  thou  art  not  seen, 
Although  thy  breath  be  rude. 
Heigh,  ho  !  sing,  heigh,  ho  1  unto  the 

green  holly  ; 
Most  friendship  is  feigning,  most  loving 
mere  folly  : 

Then,  heigh,  ho,  the  holly  ! 
This  life  is  most  jolly. 

Freeze,  freeze,  thou  bitter  sky. 
That  dost  not  bite  so  nigh 

As  benefits  forgot : 
Though  thou  the  waters  warp, 
Thy  sting  is  not  so  sharp 
As  friends  remember'd  not. 
Heigh,  ho  1  sing,  heigh,  ho  !   etc. 

William  Shakespeare. 


ODE  ON  SOLITUDE.* 

Happy  the  man,  whose  wish  and  caro 

A  few  paternal  acres  bound. 
Content  to  breathe  his  native  air 

In  his  own  ground. 

Whose  herds  with  milk,   whose  fields 
with  bread. 
Whose  flocks  supply  him  with  attire, 
Whose  trees  in  summer  yield  him  shade 
In  winter  fire. 

Blest  who  can  unconcern'dly  find 
Hours,   days    and    years    slide  soft 
awaj-. 

*  Written  wheQ  the  Author  was  about  twelve 
jeai*  old. 


In  health  of  body,  peace  of  mind. 
Quiet  by  day, 

Sound  sleep  by  night ;   study  and  ease. 

Together  mix'd  ;   sweet  recreation, 
And  innocence,  which  most  does  please, 
With  meditation. 

Thus  let  me  live,  unseen,  unknown  ; 

Thus  unlamented  let  me  die, 
Steal  from  the  world,  and  not  a  stone 
Tell  where  I  lie. 

Alexander  Pope. 


O    FOR  A  MOON  TO  LIGHT 
ME  HOME. 

O  FOR  a  moon  to  light  me  home  ! 

0  for  a  lanthorn  green  ! 
For  those  sweet  stars  the  Pleiades, 
That  glitter  in  the  twilight  trees  ; 

O  for  a  lovelorn  taper  !   O 

For  a  lanthorn  green  I 

O  for  a  frock  of  tartan  ! 

O  for  clear,  wild,  grey  eyes  ! 
For  fingers  light  as  violets, 
'Neath    branches    that    the    blackbird 
frets ; 

O  for  a  thistly  meadow  !  O 

For  clear,  wild  grey  eyes. 

O  for  a  heart  like  almond  boughs  ! 

O  for  sweet  thoughts  like  rain  ! 
O  for  first-love  like  fields  of  grey, 
Shut  April — buds  at  break  of  day  ! 

O  for  sleep  like  music  ! 

For  still  dieams  like  rain  ! 

Walter    Ramal. 


"A  WEARY  LOT  IS   THINE." 
"  A  WEARY  lot  is  thine,  fair  maid, 

A  weary  lot  is  thine  ! 
To  pull  the  thorn  thy  brow  to  braid. 

And  press  the  rue  for  wine. 
A  lightsome  eye,  a  soldier's  mien, 

A  feather  of  the  blue, 
A  doublet  of  the  Lincoln  green — 

Xo  more  of  me  you  knew 

My  Love  ! 

No  more  of  me  you  knew. 


396 


Poems  for  Children. 


"  The  morn  is  merry  June,  I  trow, 

The  rose  is  budding  fain  ; 
But  she  shall  bloom  in   winter  snow 

Ere  we  two  meet  again." 
He  turn'd  his  charger  as  he  spake 

Upon  the  river  shore. 
He  gave  the  bridal-reins  a  shako. 

Said  "  Adieu  for  evermore 

My  Love  ! 

And  adieu  for  evermore." 

iSir    Waller  tScolt. 


THE  LAST  ROSE  OP 
SUMMER. 

'Tis  the  last  rose  of  summer 

Left  blooming  alone  ; 
All  her  lovely  companions 

Are  faded  and  gone  ; 
No  flower  of  her  kindred. 

No  rose-bud  is  nigh. 
To  reflect  back  her  blushes. 

Or  give  sigh  for  sigh. 

I'll  not  leave  thee,  thou  lone  one  I 

To  pine  on  the  stem  ; 
Since  the  lovely  are  sleeping. 

Go,  sleep  thou  with  them. 
Thus  kindly  I  scatter 

Thy  leaves  o'er  the  bed 
Where  thy  mates  of  the  garden 

Lie  scentless  and  dead. 

So  soon  may  I  follow, 

When  fi'iendships  decay. 
And  from  Love's  shining  circle 

The  gems  drop  away. 
When  true  hearts  he  withered. 

And  fond  ones  are  flown, 
O  !  who  woiild  inhabit 

This  bleak  world  alone  ? 

Thomas  Moore. 


PEACE  BE  AROTJND  THEE. 

Peace  be  around  thee,  wherever  thou 

rov'st ; 

May  life  be  for  thee  one  summer's  day. 

And  all  that  thou  wishest,  and  all  that 

thou  lov'st. 

Come  smiling  around  thy  sunny  way  ! 

If  sorrow  e'er  this  calm  should  break. 

May  even  thy  tears  pass  off  so  lightly. 


Like  spring-flowers,  they'll  only  make 
The  smiles  that  follow  shine  more 
brightly. 

May  Time,  who  sheds  his  blight  o'er  all. 
And  daily  dooms  some  joy  to  death. 
O'er  thee  let  years  so  gently  fall, 
They  shall  not  crush  one  flower  be- 
neath. 
As  half  in  shade  and  half  in  sun 

This  world  along  its  path  advances. 
May  that  side  the  sun's  upon. 

Be    all    that    e'er    shaU    meet    thy 
glances  1 

Thomas  Moore. 


THOSE  EVENING  BELLS. 

Those   evening    bells !    those   evening 

belis  ! 
How  many  a  tale  their  music  tells 
Of  youth,  and  home,  and  that  sweet 

time 
When  last  I  heard  their  soothing  chime. 

Those  joyous  hours  are  passed  away ; 
And  many  a  heart,  that  then  was  gay. 
Within  the  tomb  now  darkly  dwells, 
And  hears  no  more  those  evening  bells. 

And  so  'twill  be  when  I  am  gone  ; 
That  tuneful  peal  will  still  ring  on. 
While  other  bards  shall  walk  these  dells. 
And  sing  your  praise,  sweet  evening 
bells  1 

Thomas  Moore. 


OFT  IN  THE  STILLY  NIGHT. 

Oft  in  the  stilly  night. 

Ere  Slumber's  chain  has  bound  me, 
Fond  Memory  brings  the  light 
Of  other  days  around  me ; 
The  smiles,  the  tears. 
Of  boyhood's  years. 
The  words  of  love  then  spoken  ; 
The  eyes  that  shone. 
Now  dimmed  and  gone. 
The  cheerful  hearts  now  broken  ! 
Thus,  in  the  stilly  night, 

Ere  Slumber's  chain  has  bound  me. 
Sad  Memory  brings  the  light 
Of  other  days  around  me. 


Miscellaneous. 


397 


When  I  remember  all 

The  friends,  so  linked  together, 
I've  seen  around  me  fall, 

Like  leaves  in  wintry  weather, 
I  feel  like  one 
Who  treads  alone 
Some  banquet-hall  deserted, 
Whose  lights  are  fled. 
Whose  garlands  dead, 
And  all  but  he  departed  ! 
Thus,  in  the  stilly  night, 

Ere  Slumber's  chain  has  bound  me. 
Sad  Memory  brings  the  Ught 
Of  other  days  around  me. 

Thomas  Moure. 


FULIi  FATHOM  FIVE  THY 
FATHER  lilES. 

Full  fathom  live  thy  father  lies  ; 

Of  his  bones  are  coral  made  ; 
Those  are  pearls,  that  were  his  eyes : 

Nothing  of  him  that  doth  fade 
But  doth  suffer  a  sea-change. 
8ea-nymphs  hourly  ring  his  knell : 
Hark  !  now  I  hear  them — ding,  dong, 
dell. 

Burden,  Ding-dong. 

William  Shahespeare. 


FBIENDS  DEPARTED. 

They  are  all  gone  into  the  world  of 
hght! 
And  I  alone  sit  lingering  here  ! 
Their  very  memory  is  fair  and  bright, 
And  my  sad  thoughts  doth  clear. 

It   glows   and   glittera   in   my   cloudy 
breast 
Like  stars  upon  some  gloomy  grove. 
Or  those  faint  beams  in  which  this  hill 
is  drest 

After  the  Sun's  remove. 

I  see  them  walking  in  an  air  of  glory, 
Whose   light   doth   trample   on   my 
days  ; 
My  days,  which  are  at  best  but  dull  and 
hoary, 

Mere  glimmerings  and  decays. 


O  holy  hope  !  and  high  humility  I 

High  as  the  Heavens  above ! 
These  are  your  walks,  and  you  have 
show'd  them  me. 

To  kindle  my  cold  love. 

Dear,  beauteous  Death ;  the  jewel  of 
the  just ! 
Shining  nowhere  but  in  the  dark  ; 
What  mysteries  do  lie  beyond  thy  dust. 
Could  man  outlook  that  mark  ! 

He  that  hath  found  some  fledged  bird's 

nest  may  Icnow 

At  first  sight  if  the  bird  be  flown  ; 

But  what  fair  dell  or  grove  he  sings  in 

now. 

That  is  to  him  unknowiL 

And  yet,  as  Angels  in  some  brighter 
dreams 
Call  to  the  soul  when  man  doth  sleep. 
So   some   strange   thoughts   transcend 
our  wonted  themes. 
And  into  glory  peep. 

Henry  Vatighan. 


MAN'S  LIFE. 

To-MOEROW,  and  to-morrow,  and  to- 
morrow. 

Creeps  in  this  pettyfece  from  day  to  day. 

To  the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time  ; 

And  all  our  yesterdays  have  lighted  fools 

The  way  to  dusty  death.  Out,  out, 
brief  candle  ! 

Life's  but  a  walking  shadow ;  a  poor 
player. 

That  struts  and  frets  his  hour  upon  the 
stage. 

And  then  is  heard  no  more  ;  it  is  a  tale 

Told  by  an  idiot,  full  of  sound  and  fury. 

Signifying  nothing. 

William  Shakespeare 


DEATHS  CONatTEST. 

The  glories  of  our  birth  and  state 

Are  shadows,  not  substantial  thing.t ; 
Tliere  is  no  armour  against  fate  ; 
Death  lays  his  icy  hand  on  kings : 
Sceptre  and  Crown 
Must  tuml  le  down, 


398 


Poems  for 


And  in  the  dust  be  equal  made 

With  the  poor  crooked  scythe  and  spade. 

Some  men  with  swords  may  reap  the 
field, 
And  plant  fresh  laurels  where  they 
kiU: 
But  their  strong  nerves  at  last  must 
yield  ; 
They  tame  but  one  another  «till : 
Early  or  late 
They  stoop  to  fate. 
And   must  give  up   their  murmuring 

breath 
When   they,    pale    captives,   creep   to 
death. 

The  garlands  wither  on  your  brow ; 
Then  boast  no  more  your   mighty 
deeds  ; 
Upon  Death's  purple  altar  now 

See  where  the  victor- victim  bleeds  1 
Your  heads  must  come 
To  the  cold  tomb : — 
Only  the  actions  of  the  just 
Smell  sweet,  and  blossom  in  their  dust. 

James  Shirley. 


PEACE. 

My  soul,  there  is  a  country. 

Afar  beyond  the  stars. 
Where  stands  a  winged  sentry. 

All  skilful  in  the  wars. 
There  above  noise  and  danger. 

Sweet  Peace  sits  crowned  with  smiles. 
And  One  born  in  a  manger 

Commands  the  beauteous  files. 
He  is  thy  gracious  friend, 

And  (O  my  soul,  awake  !) 
Did  in  pure  love  descend 

To  die  here  for  thy  sake. 

If  thou  canst  get  but  thither. 

There  grows  the  flower  of  peace. 
The  rose  that  cannot  wither, 

Thy  fortress  and  thy  ease. 
Leave,  then,  thy  foolish  ranges  ; 

For  none  can  thee  secure. 
But  One  who  never  changes. 

Thy  God,  thy  Life,  thy  Cure. 

Henry  VaugJian, 


Children. 

A  WIDOW  BIRD. 

A  WIDOW  bird  sate  mourning  for  her  love 

Upon  a  wintry  bough. 
The  frozen  wind  crept  on  above, 

The  freezing  stream  below. 

There  was  no  leaf  upon  the  forest  bare. 

No  flower  upon  the  ground. 
And  little  motion  in  the  air 

Except  the  miU-wheel's  sound. 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley, 


COME    AWAY,  DEATH. 

Come  away,  come  away,  death. 
And  in  sad  cypress  let  me  be  laid  ; 

Fly  away,  fly  away,  breath ; 
I  am  slain  by  a  cruel  maid. 
My  shroud  of  white,  stuck  all  with  yew, 

O  prepare  it ; 

My  part  of  death  no  one  so  true 

Did  share  it. 

Not  a  flower,  not  a  flower  sweet. 
On  my  black  coffin  let  there  be  strown  ; 

Not  a  friend,  not  a  friend  greet 
My  poor  corpse,  where  my  bones  shall 

be  thrown. 
A  thousand,  thousand  sighs  to  save. 

Lay  me,  O  where 
Sad  true  lover  ne'er  find  my  grave 
To  weep  there. 

William  SJuikespearc. 


MINSTBEIi'S  SONG  IW 
"  ELLA." 

O  SING  unto  my  rormdelay ; 

0  drop  the  briny  tear  with  me  ; 
Dance  no  more  at  holiday ; 
Like  a  rimning  river  be. 
My  love  is  dead, 
Gone  to  his  death-bed. 
All  under  the  willow-tree. 

Black  his  hair  as  the  winter  night. 

White  his  neck  as  summer  snow, 
Ruddy  his  face  as  the  morning  light. 
Cold  he  lies  in  the  grave  below. 
My  love  is  dead. 
Gone  to  his  death-bed. 
All  under  the  willow-trea. 


Miscellaneous. 


399 


Sweet  his  tongue  as  throstle's  note, 

Quick  iu  dance  as  thought  can  be  ; 
Deft  his  tabor,  cudgel  stout ; 
0,  he  lies  by  the  willow-tree. 
My  love  is  dead, 
Gone  to  his  death-bed. 
All  under  the  willow- tree. 

Hark  !  the  raven  flaps  his  wing 

In  the  brier'd  dell  below  ; 
Hark  !  the  death-owl  loud  doth  sing 
To  the  night-mares  aa  they  go. 
My  love  is  dead, 
Gone  to  his  death-bed. 
All  under  the  willow-tree. 

See,  the  -white  moon  shines  on  high  ; 
Whiter  is  my  true  love's  shroud  ; 
Whiter  than  tlie  morning  sky. 
Whiter  than  the  evening  cloud. 
My  love  is  dead. 
Gone  to  his  death-bed. 
All  under  the  willow-tree. 

Thomas  Chalterton. 


TEARS,  IDLE  TEARS. 

Tears,   idle  tears,   I  know  not  what 

they   mean. 
Tears  from  the  depth  of  some  divine 

despair 
Rise  in  the  heart,  and  gather  to  the  eyes. 
In  looking  on  the  happy  Autumn-fields, 
And  thinking  of  the  days  that  are  no 

more. 

Fresh  aa  the  first  beam  glittering  on 

a  sail, 
That  brings  our  friends  up  fioni  the 

imderworld. 
Sad  as  the  last  which  reddens  over  one 
That  sinks  with  all  we  love  below  the 

verge  ; 
So  sad,  so  fresh,  the  days  that  are  no 

more. 

Ah,  sad  and  strange  as  in  dark  summer 
dawns 

The  earUest  pipe  of  half-awaken'd 
birds 

To  dying  ears,  when  unto  dying  eyes 

The  casement  slowly  grows  a  glimmer- 
ing square  ; 

So  sad,  so  strange,  the  days  that  are 
no  more. 


Dear  as  remembered  kisses  after  death. 
And  sweet  as  those  by  hopeless  fancy 

feign'd 
On  lips  that  are  for  others  ;    deep  as 

love, 
Deep  as  first  love,  and  wild  with  all 

regret, 
O  Death  in  Life,  the  days  that  are  no 

more. 

Lord  Tennyson. 


DIR&E. 

Fear  no  more  the  heat  o*  the  sun. 
Nor  the  furious  winter's  rages  ; 

Thou  thy  worldly  task  hast  done. 
Home  art  gone,  and  ta'en  tiiy  wages  : 

Golden  lads  and  girls  all  must, 

As  chimney-sweepers  come  to  dust. 

Fear  no  more  the  frown  o'  the  great. 
Thou  art  past  the  tjTant's  stroke  ; 

Care  no  more  to  clothe  and  eat ; 
To  thee  the  reed  is  as  the  oak  ; 

The  sceptre,  learning,  physick,  must 

All  follow  this  and  come  to  dust. 

Fear  no  more  the  lightning-fiash. 
Nor  the  all-dreaded  thunder-stone  ; 

Fear  not  slander,  censure  rash  ; 
Thou  hast  finish'd  joy  and  moan : 

All  lovers  young,  all  lovers  must 

Consign  to  thee  aJid  come  to  dust. 

No  exorciser  harm  thee  ! 
Nor  no  witchcraft  charm  thee  I 
Ghost  inlaid  forbear  thee  ! 
Nothing  ill  come  near  thee  I 
Quiet  consummation  have ; 
And  renown  be  thy  grave. 

William  Shakespeare. 


ELEGY  WRITTEN  IN  A 
COUNTRY  CHURCHYARD. 

The  ciurfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting 

day. 
The  lowing  herds  wind  slowly  o'er 

the  lea. 
The   ploughman   homeward   plods   hia 

weaiy  way. 


400 


Poems  for  Children. 


And  leaves   the  world   to   darkness 
and  to  me. 

Now  fades  the  gUmmering  landscape 
on  the  sight. 
And   all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness 
holds. 
Save    where    the    beetle    wheels    his 
droning  flight, 
And  drowsy  tinkhngs  lull  the  distant 
folds. 

Save   that   from   yonder   ivy-mantled 
tower. 
The  moping  owl  does  to  the  moon 
complain 
Of  such  as,  wandering  near  her  secret 
bower. 
Molest  her  ancient  soUtary  reign. 

Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew 
tree's  shade. 
Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many   a 
mouldering  heap, 
Each  in  his  narrow  cell  for  ever  laid. 
The  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet 
sleep. 

The  breezy  call  of    incense-breathing 
morn. 
The    swallow    twittering    from    the 
straw- built  shed, 
The  cock's  shrill  clarion,  or  the  echoing 
horn, 
No  more  shall  rouse  them  from  their 
lowly  bed. 

For  them  no  more  the  blazing  hearth 
shall  burn. 
Or  busy  housewife  ply  her  evening 
care  : 
No   children   run   to   lisp   their   sire's 
return. 
Or  cUmb  his  knees  the  envied  kiss 
to  share. 

Oft   did   the   harvest  to   their  sickle 
yield. 
Their  furrow  oft  the  stubborn  glebe 
has  broke  ; 
How  jocund  did  they  drive  their  team 
a-field  ! 
How  bowed  the  woods  boneath  their 
sturdy  stroke  ! 

Let  not  Ambition  mock  their  useful  toil. 
Their    homely    joys,     and    destiny 
obscure  j 


Nor  Grandeur  hear  with  a  disdainful 

smile 
The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the 
poor. 

The   boast  of  heraldry,   the   pomp   of 
power. 
And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth 
ere  gave. 
Await  ahke  the  inevitable  hour  :  — 
The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the 
grave. 

Nor  you,  ye  proud,  impute  to  these 
the  fault, 
If  Memory  o'er  their  tomb  no  trophies 
raise, 
Where   through  the   long-drawn   aisle 
and  fretted  vault 
The  peahng  anthem  swells  the  note 
of  praise. 

Can  storied  urn  or  animated  bust 
Back  to  its  mansion  caU  the  fleeting 
breath  ? 
Can  Honour's  voice  provoke  the  silent 
dust. 
Or  Flattery  soothe  the  dull  cold  ear 
of  Death  ? 

Perhaps  in  this  neglected  spot  is  laid 
Some     heart    once     pregnant    with 
celestial  fire ; 
Hands  that  the  rod  of  empire  might 
have  swayed. 
Or  waked  to  ecstasy  the  living  Ij're. 

But  knowledge  to  their  eyes  her  ample 
page 
Rich   with   the   spoils   of  time   did 
ne'er  unioll ; 
Chill  Penury  repressed  their  noble  rage. 
And  froze  the  genial  current  of  the 
soul. 

Full  many  a  gem,  of  pm-est  ray  serene, 
The  dark  unfathomed  caves  of  ocean 
bear: 
Full  many  a  flower  is  bom  to  blush 
unseen. 
And    waste    its    sweetness   on   the 
desert  air. 

Some    village    Hampden,    that    with 
dauntless  breast 
The  httle  tyrant  of  his  fields  with- 
stood j 


Miscellaneous. 


401 


Some  mute  inglorious  Milton  here  may 
rest, 
Some     Cromwell     guiltless     of     his 
country's  blood. 

The   applause   of  Ustening  senates  to 
command. 
The    threats    of   pain    and   ruin   to 
despise. 
To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  land, 
And  read  their  history  in  a  nation's 
eyes. 

Their  lot  forbade :    nor  circumscribed 
alone 
Their    growing    virtues,    but    their 
crimes  confined  ; 
Forbade  to  wade  through  slauulitor  to 
a  throne, 
And    shut    the    gates    of   uktcv    on 
mankind  ; 

The  struggling  pangs  of  consci(nis  truth 
to  hide, 
To  quench  the  bluslies  of  ingenuous 
shame, 
Or    heap   the    shrine    of    Luxury    and 
Pride, 
With  incense  kindled  at  the  rinse's 
riame. 

Far  from  the  madding  crowd's  ignoble 
strife 
Their  sober  wishes  never  learned  to 
stray. 
Along  the  cool  sequestered  vale  of  life 
They  kept  the  noiseless  tenor  of  their 
way. 

Yet  even  these  bones  from   insult  to 
protect. 
Some    frail    memorial    still    erected 
nigh, 
With   uncouth   rhymes   and    sliapeless 
sculpture  decked 
Implores   the   passing   tribute   of   a 
sigh. 

Their  name,  their  years,  spelt  by  the 
unlettered  Muse, 
The  place  of  fame  and  elegy  supply  : 
And    many    a    holy    text    around    she 
strews. 
That   teach   the   rustic   moralist   to 
die. 


For  who,  to  dumb  Forgetfulness  a  prey, 
This    pleasing    anxious    being    e'er 
resigned. 
Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the  cheerful 
day. 
Nor  cast  one  longing,  lingering  look 
behind  ? 

On  some  fond  breast  the  parting  soul 
relies. 
Some   pious   drops   the   closing   eye 
requires  ; 
Even    from    the    tomb    the    voice    of 
,  nature  cries, 
Even  in  our  ashes  live  their  wonted 
fires. 

For    tliee,    who,    mindfvd    of   the    un- 
honoured  dead. 
Dost  in  these  lines  their  artless  tale 
relate  ; 
If  chance,  by  lonely  Contemplation  led. 
Some    kindred    spirit    shall    inquire 
thy  fate ; 

Haply  some  hoary-headed  swain  may 
say, 
"  Oft  have  we  seen  him  at  the  peep 
of  dawn 
Brushing   Avith  hasty  steps   the  dews 
away. 
To  meet  the  sun  upon  the  upland 
lawn. 

"  There,  at  the  foot  of  yonder  nodding 
beech. 
That  wreathes  its  old  fantastic  roots 
so  high. 
His  listless  length  at  noontide  would 
he  stretch. 
And    pore    upon    the    brook    that 
babbles    by. 

"  Hard  by  yon  wood,  now  smiling  as  in 
scorn. 
Muttering   his   wayward   fancies   he 
would  rove  ; 
Now  drooping,   woeful,  wan,  like  one 
forlorn, 
Or  crazed  with  care,  or  crossed  in 
hopeless  love 

"  One  morn  I  missed  him  on  the  'cus- 
tomed hill. 
Along  the  heath  and  near  his  favourite 
tree; 

26 


402 


Poems  for  Children. 


Another  came  ;   nor  yet  beside  the  rill. 
Nor  up  the  la^wn,  nor  at  the  wood 
■was  he ; 

"  The  next,   with  dirges  due  in  sad 
array 
Slow  through  the  church-way  path 
we  saw  him  borne  ; 
Approach   and   read    (foi    thou    canst 
read)  the  lay 
Graved   on  the  stone   beneath  yon 
aged  thorn." 

THE   EPITAPH. 

Here  rests  his  head  upon  the  lap  of 
Earth, 
A  Youth,  to  Fortune  and  to  Fame 
unknown  ; 
Fair  Science  frowned  not  on  his  humble 
birth, 
And  Melancholy  marked  him  for  her 
own. 

Large  was  his   bounty,   and   his  soul 
sincere, 
Heaven  did  a  recompense  as  largely 
send  : 
He  gave  to  Misery  all  he  had,  a  tear. 
He  gained  from  Heaven   ('twas  all 
he  wished)  a  friend. 

No  farther  seek  his  merits  to  disclose. 

Or  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread 

abode 

(There   they   ahke  in   trembling  hope 

repose). 

The  bosom  of  his  Father  and  his  God. 

Thomas  Oray. 


BREAK,  BREAK,  BREAK, 

Break,  break,  break. 

On  thy  cold  gray  stones,  O  Sea  ! 
And   I  would   that  my  tongue  could 
utter 

The  thoughts  that  arise  in  me. 

0  well  for  the  fisherman's  boy, 

That  he   shouts    with   his   sister   at 
play  ! 
0  well  for  the  sailor  lad. 

That  he  sings   in   his   boat  on   the 
bay; 


And  the  stately  ships  go  on 
To  their  haven  under  the  hill ; 

But  O  for  the  touch  of  a  vanish'd  hand. 
And  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  is  still. 

Break,  break,  break. 

At  the  foot  of  thy  crags,  O  Sea  ! 
But  the  tender  grace  of  a  day  that  is 
dead 

Will  never  come  back  to  me. 

Lord  Tennyson. 


A  PAREWEIili. 

Flow  down,  cold  rivulet,  to  the  sea. 
Thy  tribute  wave  deliver  ; 

No  more  by  thee  my  steps  shall  be. 
For  ever  and  for  ever. 

Flow,  softly  flow,  by  lawn  and  lea, 

A  rivulet  then  a  river ; 
Nowhere  by  thee  my  steps  shall  be, 

For  ever  and  for  ever. 

But  here  wiU  sigh  thine  alder  tree. 
And  here  thine  aspen  shiver  ; 

And  here  by  thee  will  hum  the  bee 
For  ever  and  for  ever. 

A  thousand  suns  will  stream  on  thee, 
A  thousand  moons  will  quiver ; 

But  not  by  thee  my  steps  shall  be. 
For  ever  and  for  ever. 

Lord  Tennyson. 


RING  OUT— RING   IN. 
Ring  out  wild  bells  to  the  wild  sky. 

The  flying  cloud,  the  frosty  light ; 

The  year  is  dying  in  the  night ; 
Ring  out,  wild  bells,  and  let  him  die. 

Ring  out  the  old,  ring  in  the  new. 
Ring,  happy  bells,  across  the  snow; 
The  year  is  going,  let  him  go  ; 

Ring  out  the  false,  ring  in  the  true. 

Ring  out  the  grief  that  saps  the  mind 
For  those  that  here  we  see  no  more  ; 
Ring  out  the  feud  of  rich  and  poor. 

Ring  in  redress  to  all  mankind. 


Miscellaneous.  403 

Ring  out  a  slowly  dying  cause.  Ring  in  the  love  of  truth  and  right, 

And  ancient  forms  of  party  strife  ;  Ring  in  the  common  love  of  good. 
Ring  in  the  nobler  modes  of  life, 

With  sweeter  manners,  purer  laws.  Ring  out  old  shapes  of  foul  disease. 

Ring  out  the  narrowing  lust  of  gold  ; 

Ring  out  the  want,  the  care,  the  sin,  „  King  out  the  thousand  wars  of  old, 

The  faithless  coldness  of  the  times ;  ^'"8  >"  t'^e  thousand  years  of  peace. 

Ring    out,    ring    out    my    mournful  ,          ,. 

rhymes,  Ruig  in  the  vahant  man  and  free. 

But  ring  the  fuller  minstrel  in.  The  larger  heart,  the  kindlier  hand  : 

Ring  out  the  darkness  of  the  land, 

Rmg  out  false  pride  in  place  and  blood,  ^'"8  "»  ^^^  Christ  that  is  to  be. 

^The  civio  slander  and  the  spite;  Lord,  Tennyson 


26* 


HYMNS. 


MOBNING  HYMN. 

Awake,  my  soul,  and  with  the  sun 
Thy  daily  stage  of  duty  run ; 
Shake  off  dull  sloth,  and  early  rise 
To  pay  thy  morning  sacrifice. 

Redeem  thy  misspent  moments  past. 
And  live  this  day  as  if  thy  last ; 
Thy  talents  to  improve  take  care  ; 
For  the  Great  Day  thyself  prepare. 

Let  all  thy  converse  be  pincers, 
Thy  conscience  as  the  noonday  clear  j 
For  God's  all-seing  eye  surveys 
Thy  secret  thoughts,   thy  works   and 
ways. 

Wake,  and  lift  up  thyself,  my  heart. 
And  with  the  Angels  bear  thy  part. 
Who  all  night  long  unwearied  sing 
High  glory  to  the  Eternal  King. 

Glory  to  thee  !  who  safe  hast  kept 
And  hast  refreshed  me  while  I  slept ; 
Grant,  Lord,  when  I  from  death  shall 

wake 
I  may  of  endless  Ufe  partake. 

Lord,  I  my  vows  to  Thee  renew ! 
Scatter  my  sins  as  morning  dew : 
Guard  my  fist  spring  of  thought  and 

wiU, 
And  with  Thyself  my  spirit  fill. 

Direct,  control,  suggest,  this  day, 
All  I  de  ign,  or  do  or  say  ; 
That  all  my  powers,  with  all  their  might, 
In  thy  sole  glory  may  unite. 

(Bishop)  Thomas  Km. 


MOENING  HYMN". 

Now  the  dreary  night  is  done, 
Comes  again  the  glorious  sun. 
Crimson  clouds,  and  silver  white, 
Wait  upon  his  lireaking  light. 

Glistening  in  the  garden  beds. 
Flowers  lift  up  their  dewy  heads. 
And  the  shrill  cock  claps  his  wings. 
And  the  merry  lark  upsprings. 

When  the  eastern  sky  is  red, 
I,  too,  lift  my  Uttle  head. 
When  the  lark  sings  loud  and  gay, 
I,  too,  rise  to  praise  and  pray. 

Saviour,  to  Thy  cottage  home 
Once  the  daylight  used  to  come  ; 
Thou  hast  ofttimes  seen  it  break 
Brightly  o'er  that  eastern  lake. 


With  Thee,  Lord,  I  would  arise. 
To  Thee  look  with  opening  eyes. 
All  the  day  be  at  my  side. 
Saviour,  Pattern,  King,  and  Guide 

Mrs.  Cecil  Frances  Alexander. 


MOBNING  OB  EVENING- 
HYMN. 

Great  God  !  how  endless  is  Th}^  love 
Thy  gifts  are  every  morning  new, 

And  morning  mercies  from  above. 
Gently  dis'il,  like  early  dew. 


Hymns. 


405 


Thou  spread'gt  the  cuitaina  of  the  night, 
Great  guardian  of  my  sleeping  hours  ! 

Thy  sovereign  word  restores  the  light, 
And  quickens  all  my  drowsy  powers. 

I  yield  my  powers  to  Thy  command. 
To  Thee  I  consecrate  my  days  ; 

Perpetual  blessings  from  Thy  hand 
Demand  perpetual  songs  of  praise. 
Isaac  Watts. 


A  CHILD'S  MORNIN-O 
PRAYER. 

I  THANK  Thee,  Lord,  for  quiet  rest. 

And  for  Thy  care  of  me  : 
Oh  !  let  me  through  this  day  be  blest. 

And  kept  from  harm  by  Thee. 

Oh,  let  me  love  Thee  !  kind  thou  art 

To  children  such  as  I ; 
Give  me  a  gentle,  holy  heart. 

Be  Thou  my  Friend  on  high. 

Help  me  to  please  my  parents  dear. 

And  do  whate'er  they  tell  ; 
Bless  all  my  friends,  both  far  and  near. 

And  keep  them  safe  and  well. 

Mary  Lundie  Dmican. 


PRAYERS. 
When  I  kneel  down  my  prayers  to  say, 
I  must  not  think  of  toys  or  play ; 
No  !  I  must  think  what  I  should  be. 
To  please  God  who  is  good  to  me. 

He  loves  to  see  a  little  child 
Obedient — patient,  too — and  mild  ; 
Nor  often  angry,  but  incHned 
Always  to  do  what's  good  and  kind. 

And  I  must  love  my  dear  mamma. 
And  I  must  love  my  dear  papa  ; 
And  try  to  please  them,  and  to  do 
Things  that  are  right,  and  say  what's 
trua 

For  God  is  always  pleased  to  see 
Even  little  children  such  as  we. 
Whose  hearts  (as  angels'  are  above) 
Are  full  of  peace  and  full  of  love. 

Lady  Flora  Hastinga. 


A  CHILD'S  HyMN  OF  PRAISE 
1  THANK  the  goodness  and  the  grace 

\\'hich  on  my  birth  have  smil'd. 
And  made  me,  in  these  Cliri  tian  days, 

A  happy  English  child. 

I  was  not  born,  as  thousands  are. 
Where  God  was  never  known  ; 

And  taught  to  pray  a  useless  prayer, 
To  blocks  of  wood  and  stone. 

I  was  not  bom  a  little  slave, 

To  labour  in  the  sun, 
And  wish  I  were  but  in  the  grave. 

And  all  my  labour  done  ! 

I  was  not  bom  without  a  home. 

Or  in  some  broken  shed  ; 
A  gipsy  baby  ;   taught  to  roam. 

And  steal  my  daily  bread. 

My  God,  I  thank  Thee,  who  hast  planned 

A  better  lot  for  me. 
And  placed  me  in  f's  happy  land. 

Where  I  may  heui  of  Thee. 

Jane  Taylor. 


A  CHILD'S   GRACE. 
Here  a  little  child  I  stand 
Heaving  up  my  either  hand. 
Cold  as  Paddocks  though  they  be. 
Here  I  lift  them  iip  to  Thee, 
For  a  Benizon  to  fall 
On  our  meat,  and  on  us  all. 

Robert  Herrick. 


THE  CREATION". 

All  things  bright  and  beautiful. 
All  creatures,  great  and  small. 

All  things  wise  and  wonderful. 
The  Lord  God  made  them  aU. 

Each  little  flower  that  opens. 
Each  little  bird    hat  sings, 

He  made  th  ir  glowing  colours. 
He  made  their  tiny  wings  ; 

The  rich  man  in  his  castle. 
The  poor  man  at  his  gate, 

God  made  them,  high  or  lowly. 
And  order'd  their  estate. 


406 


Poems  for  Children. 


Tbe  piirple-headed  mountain. 

The  river  running  by. 
The  sunset  and  the  morning 

That  brightens  up  the  sky ; 

The  cold  wind  in  the  winter, 
The  pleasant  summer  sun. 

The  ripe  fruits  in  the  garden — 
He  made  them  every  one. 

The  tall  trees  in  the  greenwood, 
The  meadows  where  we  play, 

Tlie  rushes  by  the  water 
We  gather  every  day ; — 

He  gave  us  eyes  to  see  them. 
And  lips  that  we  might  tell 

How  great  is  God  Almighty 
Who  has  made  all  things  well ! 

Mrs,  Cecil  Frances  Alexairder. 


THE  VISIBLE  CREATION. 

The  God  of  nature  and  of  Grace 
In  aU  His  works  appears  ; 

His  goodness  through  the  earth  we  trace, 
His  grandeiu:  in  the  spheres. 

B  hold  this  fair  and  fertile  globe. 
By  Him  in  wisdom  planned  ; 

'Twas  He,  who  girded,  like  a  robe. 
The  ocean  round  the  land. 

Lift  to  the  firmament  yoiu-  eye  ; 

Thither  His  path  pursue  ; 
His  glory  boundless  as  the  sky, 

O'erwhelms  the  wandering  view. 

He  bows  the  heavens — the  mountains 
stand 

A  highway  for  their  God, 
He  walks  amidst  the  desert  land 

— 'Tis  Eden  where  He  trod. 

'J'he  forests  in  His  strength  rejoice  ; 

Hark  !  on  the  evening  breeze. 
As  once  of  old,  the  Lord  God's  voice 

Is  heard  among  the  trees. 

Here,  on  the  hills,  He  feeds  His  herds, 
His  flocks  in  yonder  plains  ; 

His  praise  is  warbled  by  the  birds  ; 
— Oh,  could  we  catch  their  stiains. 


Mount  \^'ith  the  lark,  and  bear  our  song 

Up  to  the  gates  of  light ! 
Or,  with  the  nightingale,  prolong 

Our  numbers  through  the  night ! 

His  blessings  fall  in  plenteous  showers 

Upon  the  lap  of  earth. 
That   teems   with  foliage,   fruits,   and 
flowers, 

And  rings  with  youthful  mirth. 

If  God  hath  made  this  world  so  fair. 
Where  sin  and  death  abound  ; 

How  beautiful  beyond  compare 
Will  Paradise  be  found  ! 

James   Montgomery. 


THE    SPACIOUS    FIRMAMENT 
ON  HIGH. 

The  spacious  firmament  on  high, 

With  all  the  blue  ethereal  sky. 

And  spangled  heavens,  a  shining  frame. 

Their  great  Original  proclaim. 

The  unwearied  sun  from  day  to  day 

Does  his  Creator's  power  display, 

And  publishes  to  every  land. 

The  work  of  an  Almighty  Hand. 

Soon  as  the  evening  shades  prevail. 
The  moon  takes  up  the  wondrous  tale. 
And  nightly  to  the  listening  earth 
Repeats  the  story  of  her  birth  ; 
AVhilst  all  the  stars  that  round  her  burn. 
And  all  the  planets  in  their  turn. 
Confirm  the  tidings  as  they  roll. 
And  spread  the  truth  from  pole  to  pole. 

What  though  in  solemn  silence,  all 
i\Iove  roimd  this  dark  terrestrial  ball  ? 
What  though  nor  real  voice,  nor  sound 
Amidst  their  radiant  orbs  be  found  ? 
In  Reason's  ear  they  all  rejoice, 
And  utter  forth  a  glorious  voice. 
For  ever  singing  as  they  shine  ! 
"  The  hand  that  made  us  is  divine  !  " 

Joseph  Addison, 


"  SPEAK,  LORD,  FOR  THY 
SERVANT  HEARETH." 

Hush'd  was  the  evening  hymn. 
The  temple  courts  were  dark  ; 


Hymns. 


407 


The  lamp  was  burning  dim 

Before  the  sacred  ark  ; 
When  suddenly  a  Voice  Di\ine 
Rang  through  the  silence  of  the  shrine. 

The  old  man,  meek  and  mild. 

The  priest  of  Israel  slept ; 
His  watch  the  Temple  child, 

The  little  Levite  kept ; 
And  what  from  EU's  sense  was  seal'd, 
The  Lord  to  Hannah's  son  reveal'd. 

Oh  !  give  me  Samuel's  ear. 

The  open  ear,  O  Lord, 
Alive  and  quick  to  hear 

Each  whisper  of  Thy  word  ; 
Like  him  to  answer  at  Thy  call 
And  to  obey  Thee  first  of  all. 

Oh  !  give  me  Samuel's  heart, 

A  lovely  heart,  that  waits 
Where  in  thy  house  Thoii  art, 

Or  watches  at  Thy  gates, 
Be  day  and  night,  a  heart  that  still 
Moves  at  the  breathing  of  Thy  will. 

Oh  !  give  me  Samuel's  mind, 
A  sweet,  unmurmuring  faith. 

Obedient  and  resign'd 

To  Thee  in  life  and  death  ; 

That  I  may  read  with  child-like  eyes 

Truths  that  are  hidden  from  the  wise. 

Bev.  James  Drummond  Burns. 


A  CHILD  S  THOUGHT  OF  GOD. 

They  say  that  God  lives  very  high  1 

But  if  you  look  above  the  pines 
You  cannot  see  our  God.     And  why  ? 

And  if  you  dig  down  in  the  mines 
You  never  see  Him  in  the  gold. 
Though  from  Him  all  that's  glory  shines. 

God  is  so  good.  He  wears  a  fold 

Of  heaven  and  earth  across  His  face — 
Like  secrets  kept,  for  love  untold. 

But  still  I  feel  that  His  embrace 

Slides  down  by  thrills,  through  all 
things  made. 
Through  sight  and  sound  of  every  place : 

As  if  my  tender  mother  laid 

On  my  shut  lids,  her  kisses'  pressure. 


Half- waking  me  at  night  and  said, 
"  Who  kissed  you  through  the  dark, 
dear  guesser  ?  " 

Elizabeth    Barrett  Browning. 


A  lilTTIiE  liAMB  WENT 
STRAYING. 

A  LITTLE  lamb  went  straying 

Among  the  hills  one  day, 
Leaving  its  faithful  shepherd 

Because  it  loved  to  stray  ; 
And  while  the  sun  shone  briyiitly. 

It  knew  no  thought  of  fear, 
For  flowers  around  were  bloi^ming. 

And  balmy  was  the  air. 

But  night  came  over  quickly, 

The  hollow  breezes  blew — 
The  sun  soon  ceased  its  shining, 

All  dark  and  dismal  grew  ; 
The  little  lamb  stood  bleating. 

As  well  indeed  it  might. 
So  far  from  home  and  shepherd. 

And  on  so  dark  a  night. 

But  ah  !  the  faithful  shepherd. 

Soon  missed  the  little  thing. 
And  onward  went  to  seek  it 

It  home  again  to  bring ; 
He  sought  on  hill,  in  valley. 

And  called  it  by  its  name — 
He  sought,  nor  ceased  his  seeking 

Until  he  foimd  his  lamb. 

Then  to  his  gentle  bosom 

The  little  lamb  he  pressed ; 
And  as  he  bore  it  homeward 

He  fondly  it  caressed  ; 
The  little  lamb  was  happy 

To  find  itself  secure  ; 
And  happy,  too,  the  shepherd. 

Because  his  lamb  he  bore. 

And  won't  you  love  the  Shepherd, 

So  gentle  and  so  kind. 
Who  came  from  brightest  glory 

His  little  lambs  to  find  ? 
To  make  them,  oh,  so  happy. 

Rejoicing  in  His  love, 
Till  every  lamb  be  gathered 

Safe  in  His  home  above. 

Albert  MicUaiie 


408 


Poems  for  Children. 


"  THEBES  A  FRIEND  FOB 
LITTLE  CHILDREN." 

There's  a  Friend  for  little  children, 

Above  the  bright  blue  sky ; 
A  Friend  who  never  changes, 

Whose  love  can  never  die. 
Unlike  our  friends  by  natm-e. 

Who  change  with  changing  years. 
This  Friend  is  always  worthy 

The  precious  name  He  bears. 

There's  a  rest  for  little  children. 

Above  the  bright  blue  sky. 
Who  love  the  blessed  Savioiir, 

And  "Abba,  Father,"  cry; 
A  rest  from  every  turmoil. 

From  sin  and  danger  free. 
Where  every  little  pilgrim 

Shall  rest  eternally. 

There's  a  home  for  little  children 

Above  the  bright  blue  sky. 
Where  Jesus  reigns  in  glory, 

A  home  of  peace  and  joy. 
No  home  on  earth  is  like  it. 

Or  can  with  it  compare. 
For  every  one  is  happy. 

Nor  could  be  happier  there. 

There's  a  crown  for  little  children. 

Above  the  bright  blue  sky  ; 
And  all  who  look  for  Jesus 

Shall  wear  it  by-and-by. 
A  crown  of  brightest  glory. 

Which  He  will  then  bestow 
On  all  who've  found  His  favour. 

And  loved  His  name  below. 

There's  a  song  for  little  children. 

Above  the  bright  blue  sky, 
A  song  that  will  not  weary. 

Though  sung  continually ; 
A  song  which  even  angels 

Can  never,  never  sing. 
They  know  not  Christ  as  Saviour, 

But  worship  Him  as  King. 

There's  a  robe  for  little  children. 

Above  the  bright  blue  sky. 
And  a  harp  of  sweetest  music. 

And  a  palm  of  victory. 
All,  all  above  is  treasured. 

And  found  in  Chjist  alone ; 
Oh,  come,  dear  little  children. 

That  all  may  be  yom-  own. 

Albert  Midlane. 


GENTLE  JESUS,   MEEK  AND 
MILD. 

Gentle  Jesus,  meek  and  mild. 

Look  upon  a  little  child. 

Pity  my  simphcity. 

Teach  me.  Lord,  to  come  to  Thee. 

Fain  would  I  to  Thee  be  brought. 
Lamb  of  God,  forbid  it  not ; 
In  the  Kingdom  of  Thy  grace 
Give  a  little  child  a  place. 

Bev.  Charles  Wesley. 


"  »LORIOTJS  THE  STTN  IN  MID 
CAREER." 

Glorious  the  sun  in  mid  career ; 
Glorious  the  assembled  fires  appear. 

Glorious  the  comet's  train 
Glorious  the  trumpet  and  alarm  ; 
Glorious  the  Almighty's  stretched  out 
arm ; 

Glorious   the   enraptured   main. 

Glorious  the  northern  lights  a-stream  ; 
Glorious   the   song    when    God's    the 
theme ; 

Glorious  the  thunder's  roar ; 
Glorious   Hosannah   from   the  den ; 
Glorious  the  cathohc  Amen  ; 

Glorious  the  martyr's  gore. 

Christopher  Smart, 


THE   LORD   IS   MY    PASTURE. 

The   Lord   my  pasture  shall  prepare, 
And  feed  me  with  a  shepherd's  care ; 
His  presence  shall  my  wants  supply. 
And  guard  me  with  a  watchful  eye ; 
My  noonday  walks  he  shall  attend,' 
And  aU  my  midnight  hours  defend. 

When  in  the  sultry  glebe  I  faint, 
Or  on  the  thirsty  mountains  pant, 
In  fertile  vales  and  dewy  meads. 
My  weary,  wand'ring  steps  He  leads. 
Where  peaceful  rivers,  soft  and  slow. 
Amid  the  verdant  landscape  flow. 


Hymns. 


401) 


Tliough  in  the  paths  of  death  I  tread, 
With  gloomy  horrors  overspread. 
My  steadfast  heart  shall  fear  no  ill. 
For  thou,  O  Lord,  art  with  me  still ; 
Thy  friendly  crook  shall  give  me  aid. 
And   guide   me   through   the   dreadful 
shade. 


Joseph  Addison. 


"JUST  AS  I  AM." 
Just  as  I  am — without  one  pica. 
But  that  Thy  Blood  was  shed  for  me, 
And  that  Thou  bidd'st  me  come  to  Thee, 
0  Lamb  of  God,  I  come  I 

Just  as  I  am, — and  waiting  not 
To  rid  my  soul  of  one  dark  blot. 
To  thee  whose  blood  can  cleanse  each 
spot, 

O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come  ! 

Just  as  I  am, — though  tossed  about 
With  many  a  conflict,  many  a  doubt, 
"  Fightings  and  fears  within,  without," 
0  Lamb  of  God,  I  come  I 

Just  as  I  am, — poor,  ■WTetched,  blind, 
Sight,  riches,  heaUng  of  the  mind, 
Yea,  all  I  need  in  Thee  I  find, 

O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come  ! 


LO,  THE  lilLIES  OF  THE  FIELD. 

Lo,  the  hlics  of  the  field, 

How  their  leaves  instruction  yield  ! 

Hark  to  Nature's  lesson,  given 

By  the  blessed  birds  of  heaven  ; 

Every  bush  and  tufted  tree 

Warbles  sweet  philosophy  : 

"  Mortal,  fly  from  doubt  and  sorrow, 

God  provideth  for  the  morro^\  ! 

"  Say,  with  richer  crimson  glows 
The  kingly  mantle  than  the  rose  ? 
Say,  have  kings  more  wholesome  fare 
Than  we  poor  citizeiLs  of  air  ? 
Barns,  nor  hoarded  grain  have  we. 
Yet  we  carol  merrily. 
Mortal,  fly  from  doubt  and  soitow, 
God  pro\ideth  for  the  morrow  I 

"  One  there  lives,  whose  guardian  eye 
Guides  our  humble  destiny  : 
One  there  lives,  who.  Lord  of  all, 
Keeps  our  feathers,  lest  they  fall. 
Pass  we  bhthely  then  the  time. 
Fearless  of  the  snare  and  lime, 
Free  from  doubt  and  faithless  sorrow  ; 
God  provideth  for  the  morrow." 

(^Bishop)  Reginald  Heber. 


PLEASANT  ABE  THY  COURTS 
ABOVE. 

Pleasant  are  Thy  courts  above. 
In  the  land  of  light  and  love ; 
Pleasant  are  Thy  courts  below. 
In  this  laud  of  sin  and  woe. 


Just  aa  I  am, — Thou  wilt  receive. 
Wilt  welcome,  pardon,  cleanse,  relieve  : 
Because  Thy  promise  I  believe, 

0  Lamb  of  God,  I  come  I 

Just  as  I  am, — Thy  Love,  unknown. 
Has  broken  every  barrier  down  ; 
Kow,  to  be  Thine,  yea.  Thine  alone, 

0  Lamb  of  God,  I  come  ! 

Just  as  I  am, — of  that  free  love. 

The  breadth,  length,  depth,  and  height 

to  prove, 
Here  for  a  season,  then  above, 

0  Lamb  of  God,  I  come  ! 

Charlotte  Elliott. 


0  uiy  spirit  longs  and  faints 
For  the  converse  of  Thy  saints, 
For  the  brightness  of  Thy  face. 
King  of  Glory,  God  of  grace  ! 

Happy  birds,  that  sing  and  fly. 
Round  Thy  altars,  0  Most  High  I 
Happier  souls,  that  find  a  rest 
In  a  heavenly  Father's  breast ! 

Like  the  wandering  dove,  that  found 
No  repose  on  earth  around. 
The)'  can  to  their  ark  repair. 
And  enjoy  it  ever  there. 

Happy  soula  !  their  praises  flow 
Even  in  this  vale  of  woe ; 


410 


Poems  for  Children. 


Waters  in  the  desert  rise, 
Manna  feeds  them  from  the  skies. 

On  they  go  from  strength  to  strength, 
Till  they  reach  Thy  throne  at  length  ; 
At  Thy  feet  adoring  fall, 
Who  hast  led  them  safe  through  alL 

Lord  be  mine  this  prize  to  win  ; 
Gtiide  me  through  a  world  of  sin ; 
Keep  me  by  Thy  saving  grace  ; 
Give  me  at  Thy  side  a  placf. 

Sun  and  shield  alike  Thou  art ; 
Guide  and  guard  my  erring  heart ; 
Grace  and  glory  flow  from  Thee  : 
Shower,  0  shower  them.  Lord,  on  me  ! 
Bev.  Henry  Francis  Lyte. 

I  HEABD  THE  VOICE  OP 
JESTJS    SAY. 

I  HEARD  the  voice  of  Jesus  say. 

Come  imto  Me  and  rest ; 
Lay  down,  thou  weary  one,  lay  down 

Thy  head  upon  My  breast. 
I  came  to  Jesus  as  I  was. 

Weary,  and  worn,  and  sad  ; 
I  found  in  Him  a  resting-place. 

And  He  has  made  me  glad. 

I  heard  the  voice  of  Jesus  say. 

Behold,  I  freely  give 
The  Uving  water, — thirsty  one. 

Stoop  down,  and  drink,  and  hve. 
I  came  to  Jesvis,  and  I  drank 

Of  that  life-giving  stream  : 
My    thirst    was    quenched,    my    soul 
revived. 

And  now  I  live  in  Him. 

I  heard  the  voice  of  Jesus  say, 

I  am  this  dark  world's  Light ; 
Look  unto  Me,  thy  morn  shall  rise. 

And  all  thy  day  be  bright. 
I  looked  to  Jesus,  and  I  found 

In  Him  my  Star,  my  Sun  ; 
And  in  that  Light  of  hfe  I'll  walk 

Till  travelhng  days  are  done. 

Rev.   Uoraiius  Bonar. 


SOUND    THE  liOTJD   TIMBREIi. 

Sound  the  loud  timbrel  o'er  Egypt's 

dark  sea  ! 
Jehovah  has  triumphed — his  people  are 

free. 


Sing — for  the  pride  of  the  tyrant  is 

broken. 
His  chariots  and  horsemen,  all  splendifl 

and  brave. 
How   vain   was   their   boasting !     The 

Lord  hath  but  spoken. 
And  chariots  and  horseman  are  sunk 

in  the  wave  ; 
Sound  the  loud  timbrel  o'er  Egyjjt's 

dark  sea, 
Jehovah  has  triumphed — his  people  are 

free  ! 
Praise  to  the  Conqueror,  praise  to  the 

Lord, 
His  word  Avas  our  aiTOw,  his  breath 

was  our  sword  ! — 
Wlio   shall   return   to   tell   Egypt  the 

story 
Of  those  she  sent  forth  in  the  hour  of 

her  pride  ? 
For  the  Lord  hath  look'd  out  from  his 

pillar  of  glory. 
And    all    her    brave    thousands    are 

dash'd  in  the  tide  ; 
Soxind  the  loud  timbrel  o'er  Egypt's 

dark  sea  ! 
Jeliovah  has  triumph' d — his  people  are 

free! 

Thomas  Moore. 


THOXr  ABT,  O  GOD,  THE  LIFE 
AND   LIGHT. 

Thou  art,  O  Lord,  the  life  and  light 
Of  all  this  wondrous  world  we  see ; 

Its  glow  by  day,  its  smile  by  night 
Are  but  reflections  caught  of  Thee ; 

Where'er  we  turn  Thy  glories  shine. 

And  aU  tilings  fair  and  bright  are  Thine. 

When  day,  with  parting  beam,  delays 
Among  the  op'ning  clouds  of  ev'n  ; 

And  we  can  almost  think  we  gaze 
Through  golden  vistas  into  heav'n ; 

Those  hues  that  mark  the  siui's  decline. 

So  soft,  so  radiant,  Lord  !  are  Thine. 

When  night,  with  wings  of  starry  gloom, 
O'ershadows  all  the  earth  and  skies. 

Like  some  dark,  beauteous  bird,  whose 
plume 
Is  sparkling  with  unnumber'd  dyes— 

That  scacred  gloom,  those  fires  divine. 

So  grand,  so  countless,  liOrd  !  are  Thine. 

When     youthful     Spring     around     us 
breatliei, 


Hymns. 


411 


Thy  Spirit  warms  her  fragrant  sigli  ; 
And  every  flowr  the  Summer  wreathes 

Is  born  benc<;(!)  that  kindling  eye  : 
Where'er  we  turn  Thy  glories  sliino. 
And  all  things  fair  and  bright  are  Tliine. 
Thomas  Moore. 


THE   SNOWDROP. 

I  LOVK  the  httle  snowdrop  flower, 

The  first  in  all  the  year. 
Without  a  stain  upon  its  leaf 

So  snowy,  white  and  clear. 

I  love  a  httle  modest  child. 

That  speakcth  quietly, 
That  blushes  up  to  its  blue  ej'es. 

And  hardly  answers  me. 

I  sometimes  think  the  Church's  Saints, 
Are  flowers  so  fair  and  bright, 

And  that  her  httle  children  are. 
Her  snowdrops  sweet  and  \\hite. 

Pu  re  of  heart,  and  innocent, 

And  teachable  and  milfi. 
And  modest  in  its  ways  and  words,- 

Should  be  a  Chiistian  child. 
I  do  not  like  a  loud  rough  tone, 

A  look  too  boldly  set, 
A  greedy  hand  outstretched  to  seize 

Whatever  it  can  get. 

I'd  rather  meet  with  downcast  eyes. 
Sweet  voices  low  and  faint ; 

For  gentleness  and  modesty 
Become  a  little  saint. 

Mr$.  Cecil  Frances  Alexander. 


THERE  IS  A  GREEN  HILL 
FAR  AWAY. 

There  is  a  green  hill  far  away. 

Without  a  city  wall, 
Where    the    dear    Lord    was    crucified 

Who  died  to  save  us  all. 

We  may  not  know,  we  cannot  tell. 
What  pains  He  had  to  bear. 

But  we  believe  it  was  for  us 
He  hung  and  suffered  there  ! 

He  died  that  we  might  be  forgi\en. 

He  died  to  make  us  good. 
That  we  might  go  at  last  to  lieavcii. 

Saved  by  His  precious  blood. 


There  was  no  other  good  enough 

To  pay  the  price  of  sin. 
He  only  could  unlock  the  gate 

Of  Heaven,  and  let  us  in. 

0  dearly,  dearly  has  He  loved, 
And  we  must  love  Him  too, 

And  trust  in  His  redeeming  blood. 
And  try  His  work  to  do. 

Mrs.  Cecil  Frances  Alexander. 


THE   VISION   OF    BELSHAZZAR 

The  King  was  on  his  throne, 

The  Satraps  throng'd  the  hall ; 
A  thousand  bright  lamps  shone 

O'er  that  high  festival. 
A  thousand  cups  of  gold. 

In  Judah  deeni'd  divine — 
Jehovah's  vessels  hold 

The  godless  Heathen's  wine. 

In  that  same  hour  and  haU 

The  fingers  of  a  hand 
Came  forth  against  the  wall. 

And  wrote  as  if  on  sand  : 
The  fingers  of  a  man  : — 

A  sohtary  hand 
Along  the  letters  ran. 

And  traced  them  like  a  wand. 

'J'he  Jlonarch  saw,  and  shook. 

And  bade  no  more  rejoice  ; 
All  bloodless  waxed  lu's  look. 

And  tremulous  his  voice  : — • 
"  Let  the  men  of  lore  appear, 

The  wisest  of  the  earth. 
And  expound  the  words  of  fear. 

Which  mar  our  royal  mirth." 

Chaldea's  seers  are  good. 

But  here  they  have  no  skill, 
And  the  unknown  letters  stood 

Untold  and  awful  still. 
And  Babel's  men  of  age 

Are  wise  and  deep  in  lore, 
J'>iit  now  they  were  not  sage. 

They  saw — but  knew  no  more. 

\  (^aptive  in  the  land,  >» 

A  stranger  and  a  youth. 
He  heard  the  King's  command, 

He  saw  that  writing's  truth  ; 
'.riie  lamps  around  were  bright, 

The  prophecy  in  view ; 


412 


Poems  for  Children. 


He  toad  it,  on  that  night, — 
The  morrow  proved  it  true  ! 

"  Jielshazzar's  grave  is  made. 

His  kingdom  pass'd  away. 
He,  in  the  balance  weigh'd. 

Is  hght  and  worthlesa  clay ; 
The  shroixd,  his  robe  of  state ; 

His  canopy,  the  stone  ; 
The  Made  is  at  his  gate  ! 

The  Persian  on  his  throne !  " 

Lord  Byron. 


Hide  me,  O  my  Saviour,  hide. 
Till  the  storm  of  hfe  be  past ; 

Safe  into  the  haven  guide, 
O  receive  my  soul  at  last ! 

Other  refuge  have  I  none, 

Hangs  my  helpless  soul  on  Thee ; 
Leave,  ah  !    leave  me  not  alone, 

StiU  support  and  comfort  me  ! 
All  my  trust  on  Thee  is  stayed, 

AU  my  help  from  Thee  I  bring ; 
Cover  my  defenceless  head 

With  the  shadows  of  Thy  wing  ! 


THE   HAPPY  I.AND. 

There  is  a  happy  land. 

Far,  far  away. 
Where  saints  in  glory  stand 

Bright,  bright  as  day. 

Oh  how  they  sweetly  sing. 
Worthy  is  our  Saviour  King, 

Loud  let  His  praises  sing. 
Praise,  praise  for  aye. 

Come  to  this  happy  land. 

Come,  come  away ; 
Why  wiU  ye  doubting  stand  ? 

Why  still  delay  ? 

Oh  we  shall  happy  be. 

When  from  sin  and  sorrow  free, 
Lord,  we  shall  live  with  Thee  ! 

Blest,  blest  for  aye. 

Bright  in  that  happy  land 

Beams  every  eye — 
Kept  by  a  Father's  hand 

Love  cannot  die. 

On  then  to  Glory  run  ; 

Be  a  crown  and  Kingdom  won  ; 
And  bright  above  the  sun 

We  reign  for  aye. 

Andrew  Young. 


JESTT,  LOVEB   OF   MY   SOTTL. 

Jesf,  lover  of  my  soul. 

Let  me  to  thy  bosom  fly, 
While  the  gathering  waters  roU  ; 

While  the  tempest  still  is  high. 


Plenteous  grace  with  Thee  is  found, 

Grace  to  cleanse  from  every  sin ; 
Let  the  healing  streams  abound  ; 

Make  and  keep  me  pure  witliin  I 
Thou  of  Life  the  Fountain  art. 

Freely  let  me  take  of  Thee  ; 
Spring  Thou  up  within  my  heart. 

Rise  to  all  eternity  1 

Bev.  Charles    Wesley, 


HARK!  THE  HERALD  ANGELS 
SING-. 

Hark  !   the  Herald  angels  sing — 
"  Glory  to  the  new-born  King  ; 
Peace  on  earth,  and  mercy  mild, 
God  and  sinners  reconciled  !  " 

Joyful,  aU  ye  nations,  rise. 
Join  the  triumph  of  the  skies  ; 
With  the  Angelic   host  proclaim, 
"  Christ  is  born  in  Bethlehem." 

Clmst,  by  highest  heaven  adored, 
Christ,  the  everlasting  Lord, 
Late  in  time  behold  Him  come. 
Offspring  of  a  Virgin's  womb. 

Veiled  in  flesh,  the  Godhead  see. 
Hail,   the  Incarnate  Deity ! 
Pleased  as  man  with  men  to  dwell, 
Jesus,  our  Emmanuel. 

Hail,  the  heavenly  Prince  of  Peace  t 
Hail,  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  1 
Light  and  life  to  all  He  brings. 
Risen  with  healing  in  His  wings. 

Mild  He  lays  His  glory  by, 

Born,  that  man  no  more  may  die. 

Born,  to  raise  the  sons  of  earth, 


Hymns. 


413 


Born,  to  give  them  second  birth. 
Hark  !    the  Herald  angels  sing, 
"  Glory  to  the  new-born  King." 

£ev.  Cluirlea  Wesley. 


"WHILE   SHEPHERDS 
WATCHED    THEIR  FLOCKS 
BY   NIGHT." 
While  shepherds  watched  their  llocks 
by  night 
All  seated  on  the  ground, 
The  angel  of  the  Lord  came  down. 
And  glory  shone  around. 

"  Fear    not,"    said    he ;     for    mighty 
dread 

Had  seized  their  troubled  mind  : 
"  Glad  tidings  of  great  joy  I  bring 

To  you  and  all  mankind. 

"  To  you  in  David's  town  this  day 

Is  born  of  David's  line 
A  Saviour,  who  is  Christ  the  Lord, 

And  this  shall  be  the  sign. 

"  The  heavenly  Babe  you  there  shall 
find 

To  human  view  displayed, 
All  meanly  ■wrapped  in  swathing  bands. 

And  in  a  manger  laid." 

Thus  spoke  the  seraph  ;   and  forthwith 
Apjjeared  a  shining  throng 

Of  angels,  praising  God,  who  thus 
Addressed  their  joyful  song  : 

"  All  glory  be  to  God  on  high. 
And  on  the  earth  be  peace  ; 
Good-will  henceforth  from  heaven  to 
men 
Begin  and  never  cease." 

Nahum    Tate. 


Star  of  the  East,  the  horizon  adorning, 
Guide  where  our  infant  Redeemer  is 
laid  I 

Cold  on  His  cradle  the  dewdrops  are 
shining, 
Low  lies  His  head  with  the  beasts 
of  the  stall  ; 
Angels  adore  Him,  in  slumber  reclining. 
Maker,  and    Monarch,  and    Saviour 
of  all ! 

Offer  Him  gifts  then,  in  costly  devotion. 

Odours  of  Edom  and  incense  divine  ; 

Gems  of  the  mountain,  and  pearls  of 

the  ocean. 

Myrrh  from  the  forest,  and  gold  from 

the  mine. 

Vainly   we  offer  each  ample  oblation. 

Vainly  with  gold  would  His  favour 

secure  ; 

Kicher  by  far  is  the  heart's  adoration. 

Dearer  to  God  are  the   prayers   of 

the  poor. 

{Btahop)  Reginald  Hcher. 


A  HYMN-  FOR  CHRISTMAS 
DAY* 

Almighty  Framer  of  the  Skies  ! 
Oh  let  our  pure  devotion  rise 

Like  incense  in  Thy  sight ! 
Wrapt  in  impenetrable  shade 
The  texture  of  our  souls  were  made, 

Till  thy  command  gave  Ught. 

The  Sun  of  Glory  gleam'd  the  ray. 
Refined  the  darkness  into  day. 

And  bid  the  vapours  fly : 
ImpeU'd  by  His  eternal  Love 
He  left  his  Palaces  above 

To  cheer  our  gloomy  sky. 


BRIGHTEST  AND  BEST  OF 
THE  SONS  OF  THE  MORNING 

Brightest  and  best  of  the  sons  of  the 
morning. 
Dawn   on   our   darkness,    and   lend 
pa  thine  aid  ! 


How  shall  we  celebrate  the  day 
When  God  appear'd  in  mortal  clay, 

T'he  mark  of  worldly  scorn  ; 
When  the  archangel's  heavenly  lays 
Attempted  the  Redeemer's  praise. 

And    hail'd   salvati  .n's    mom  ! 

-  Written  at  the  a^e  of  eleven. 


414 


Poems  for  Children. 


A  humble  form  of  Godhead  wore, 
The  pains  of  poverty  He  bore. 

To  gaudy  pomp  unknown : 
Though  in  a  human  walii  He  trode. 
Still  was  the  Man  Almighty  God, 

In  glory  all  His  own. 

Despised,  oppress' d,  the  Godhead  bears 
The  torments  of  this  vale  of  tears, 

^or  bade  His  vengeance  rise  ; 
He  saw  the  creatures  He  had  made 
Revile  His  power.  His  peace  invade, — 

He  saw  with  Mercy  s  eyes. 

How  shall  we  celebrate  His  Name, 
Who  groan'd  beneath  a  life  of  shame. 

In  all  afflictions  tried  ! 
The  soul  is  raptured  to  conceive, 
A  truth  which  Being  must  beheve — 

The  God  eternal  died. 

My  soul,  exert  thy  powers — adore  ; 
Upon  Devotion's  plumage  soar 

To  celebrate  the  day ; 
The  God  from  whom  creation  sprung 
Shall  animate  my  grateful  tongue  ; 

From  Him  I'll  catch  the  lay  ! 

Thomas  Chatterton. 


AN"  ODE  ON  THE  BIBTH  OF 
OTJB   SAVIOUB. 

In  numbers,  and  but  these  few, 
I  sing  thy  birth,  O  Jesu  ! 
Thou  pretty  baby,  born  here 
With  aup'rabundant  scorn  here : 
Who  for  thy  princely  post  here, 

Hadst  for  thy  place 

Of  birth,  abase 
Out-stable  for  thy  court  here. 

Instead  of  neat  enclosures 
Of  interwoven  osiers. 
Instead  of  fragrant  posies 
Of  daffodils  and  roses. 
Thy  cradle.  Kingly  Stranger, 

As  gospel  teUs, 

Was  nothing  else 
But  here  a  homely  manger. 

But  we  with  silks  (not  cruell.j, 
With  sundry  precious  -jewels, 
And  lily-work  wiU  dress  Thee ; 
And,  as  we  dispossess  Thee,. 


Of  clouts,  we'll  make  a  chamber, 

Sweet  babe,  for  Thee 

Of  ivory, 
And  plaster'd  round  with  amber. 

Robert  Merrick. 


NEW  PBINCE,  NEW  POMP. 

Behold  a  simple,  tender  Babe, 

In  freezing  winter  night ; 
In  homely  manger  trembling  lies  ; 

Alas  !    a  piteous  sight. 

The  inns  are  full ;  no  man  will  yield 

This  httle  Pilgrim  bed  ; 
But  forced  He  is  with  silly  beasts 

In  crib  to  shi'oud  His  head. 

Despise  Him  not  for  l3dng  there 
First  what  He  is  inquire : 

An  Orient  pearl  is  often  found 
In  depth  of  dirty  mire. 

Weigh  not  His  crib.  His  wooden  dish. 
Nor  beasts  that  by  Him  feed  ; 

Weigh  not  His  mother's  poor  attire, 
Nor  Joseph's  simple  weed.* 

This  stable  is  a  Prince's  court, 
The  crib  His  chair  of  state  ; 

The  beasts  are  parcel  of  His  pomp, 
The  wooden  dish  His  plate. 


come    from 


The  person  in  that  poor  attire 

His  royal  liveries  wear ; 
The   Prince    Himself    is 
heaven  ; 

This  pomp  is  praised  there. 

With  joy  approach,  O  Christian  wight  I 
Do  homage  to  thy  Kin^  ; 

And  highly  praise  tliis  humble  pomp. 
Which  He  from  heaven  doth  bring. 

Robert  SotUhwell. 


ONCE    IN   BOYAIi    DAVID'S 
CITY. 

Once  in  royal  David's  city 
Stood  a  lowly  cattle  slied. 

Where  a  Jlother  laid  her  baby 
In  a  manger  for  His  bed  ; 

Mary  was  that  Mother  mild, 

Jesus  Christ  her  little  child. 
*  Clothes. 


Hymns. 


41.1 


He  came  down  to  earth  from  heaven, 
Who  is  God  and  Lord  of  all. 

And  His  shelter  was  a  stable, 
And  His  cradle  was  a  stall. 

With  the  poor,  and  mean,  and  lowly 

Lived  on  earth  our  Saviour  Holy. 

And  through  all  His  wondrous  child- 
hood. 

He  would  honour  and  obey. 
Love  and  watch  the  lowly  Maiden, 

In  whose  gentle  arms  He  lay ; 
Christian  children  all  must  be 
Mild,  obedient,  good  aa  He. 

For  He  is  our  childhood's  pattern. 
Day  by  day  hke  us  He  grew. 

He  was  little,  weak,  and  helpless. 
Tears  and  smiles  like  us  He  knew ; 

And  He  feeleth  for  our  sadness. 

And  He  shareth  in  our  gladness. 

And  our  eyes  at  last  shall  see  Him, 
Through  His  own  redeeming  love. 

For  that  Child  so  dear  and  gentle 
Is  our  Lord  in  heaven  above  ; 

And  He  leads  His  children  on 

To  the  place  where  He  has  gone. 

Not  in  that  poor  lowly  stable. 
With  the  oxen  standing  by. 

We  shall  see  Him  ;  but  in  heaven, 
Set  at  God's  right  hand  on  high, 

Wlien  hke  stars  His  children  crowned 

All  in  white  shall  wait  around. 

Mrs.  Cecil  Frances  Alexander, 


Eight  against  the  forest  fence. 
By  Saint  Agnes'  fountain." 

"  Bring  me  flesh,  and  bring  me  wine. 

Bring  me  pine-logs  hither : 
Thou  and  I  will  see  him  dine, 

When  we  bear  them  thither." 
Page  and  monarch,  forth  they  went. 

Forth  they  went  together ; 
Through  the  rude  wind's  wild  lament 

And  the  bitter  weather. 

"  Sire,  the  night  is  darker  now. 

And  the  wind  blows  stronger  ; 
Fails  my  heart,  I  know  not  how, 

T  can  go  no  longer." 
"  Mark  my  footsteps,  good  my  page  ; 

Tread  thou  in  them  boldly  : 
Thou  shalt  find  the  winter  rage 

Freeze  thy  blood  less  coldly." 

In  his  master's  steps  he  trod. 

Where  the  snow  lay  dinted  ; 
•  Heat  was  in  the  very  sod 

Which  the  saint  had  printed. 
Therefore,  Christian  men  be  sure, 

Wealth  or  rank   possessing. 
Ye  who  now  wiU  bless  the  poor. 

Shall  yourselves  find  blessing. 

Old  Carol, 


I   SAW  THREE  SHIPS. 

I  SAW  three  ships  come  sailing  in. 
On  Chiistmas  day,  on  Christmas  day, 

I  saw  three  ships  come  sailing  in, 
On  Christmas  day,  in  the  morning. 


GOOD    KING    WENCESLAS. 

Good  King  Wenceslas  looked  out 

On  the  Feast  of  Stephen, 
AA'hen  the  snow  lay  round  about, 

Deep,  and  crisp,  and  ev  n. 
Brightly  shone  the  moon  that  night. 

Though  the  frost  was  cruel, 
When  a  poor  man  came  in  sight, 

Gath'ring  winter  fuel. 

*'  Hither,  page,  and  stand  by  me. 
If  thou  know'st  it,  telhug, 

Yonder  peasant,  who  is  he  ? 
Where  and  what  his  dwelhng  ?  " 

"  Sire,  he  lives  a  good  league  hence, 
Underneath  the  mountain ; 


Pray    whither   sailed    those   ships    all 
three 
On  Christmas  day,  on  Christmas  day  1 
Pray    whither    sailed    those    ships    all 
three 
On  Christmas  day,  in  the  morning. 

Oh,  they  sailed  into  Bethlehem 

On    Christmas    day,    on    Christmas 
day  ; 

Oil,  they  sailed  into  Bethlehem, 
On  Christmas  day,  in  the  morning. 

And  all  the  bells  on  earth  shall  ring 
On  Christmas  day,  on  Christmas  day 


416 


Poems  for  Children. 


And  all  the  bells  on  earth  shall  ring 
On  Christmas  day,  in  the  morning. 

And    all    the    angels   in   heaven   shall 
sing. 
On    Christmas    day,    on    Christmas 
day; 
And   ail    the   angels   in   heaven    shall 
sing, 
On  Christmas  day,  in  the  morning. 

And  all  the  souls  on  earth  shall  sing 
On  Christmas  day,  on  Christmas  daj' ; 

And  aU  the  souls  on  earth  shall  sing 
On  Christmas  day,  in  the  morning. 

Old  Carol. 


ONWARD,  CHRISTIAN" 
SOLDIERS. 

Onward,  Christian  soldiers, 

Marching  as  to  war. 
With  the  Cross  of  Jesus 

Going  on  before. 
Christ  the  Royal  Master 
Leads  against  the  foe  ; 
Forward  into   battle. 
See,  His  banners  go  ! 

Onward,  Christian  soldiers. 

Marching  as  to  war. 
With  the  Cross  of  Jesus 
Going  on  before. 

At  the  sign  of  triumph 

Satan's  host  doth  flee  ; 
On  then.  Christian  soldiers, 

On  to  victory. 
Hell's  foundations  quiver 

At  the  shouts  of  praise  ; 
Brothers,  lift  your  voices, 

l/oud   your  anthems   raise. 
Onward,  etc. 

Like  a  mighty  army 

Moves  the  Church  of  God  ; 
Brothers,  we  are  treading 

Where  the  Saints  have  trod  ; 
We  are  not  divided 

All  one  body  we. 
One  in  hope  and  doctrine. 

One  in  charity. 
Onward,  etc. 


Crowns  and  thrones  may  perish, 

Ivingdoms  rise  and  wane. 
But  the  Church  of  Jesus 
Constant  will  remain  ; 
Gates  of  hell  can  never 

'Gainst  that  Church  prevail ; 
We  have  Christ's  promise. 
And  that  cannot  fail. 
Onward,  etc. 

Onward,  then,  ye  people, 
Join  our  happy  throng. 
Blend  with  ours  your  voices 

In  the  triumph  song  ; 
Glory,  laud,  and  honour 
L^nto  Christ  the  King, 
This  through  countless  ages 
Men  and  angels  sing. 

Onward,  Christian  soldiers. 

Marching  as  to  war. 
^Vith  the  Cross  of  Jesus 
Going  on  before. 

Eev.  S.  Baring-Gould. 


FROM   GREENLAND'S   ICY 
MOUNTAINS. 

From  Greenland's  icy  mountains. 

From  India's  coral  strand  ; 
Where  Afric's  suimy  fomitains 

Roll  down  their  golden  sand  : 
From  many  an  ancient  river. 

From  many  a  palmy  plain. 
They  call  us  to  dehver 

Theii'  land  from  error's  chain. 

What  though  the  spicy  breezes 

Blow  soft  o'er  Ceylon's  isle  ; 
Though  every  prospect  pleases, 

And  only  man  is  vile  : 
In  vain  with  lavish  kindness 

The  gifts  of  God  are  strown  ; 
The  heathen,  in  his  blindness, 

BoM  s  down  to  wood  and  stone. 

Can  we,  whose  souls  are  lighted 

With  wisdom  from  on  high — 
Can  we,  to  men  benighted. 

The  lamp  of  life  deny  ? 
Salvation  !  oh,  salvation  ! 

The  joyful  sound  proclaim  ; 
Till  each  remotest  nation 

Has  learnt  Messiah's  name. 


Hymns. 


417 


Waft,  waft,  ye  winds,  His  story. 

And  you,  ye  waters,  roll, 
Till,  like  a  sea  of  glorj'. 

It  spreads  from  pole  to  pole ; 
Till  o'er  our  ransomed  nature. 

The  Lamb  for  sinners  slain. 
Redeemer,  King,  Creator, 

In  bliss  returns  to  reign. 

(Bishop)  Reginald  Heber. 


A    THANKSGIVING    TO    GOD 
FOR  HIS  HOUSE. 

Lord,  Thou  hast  given  me  a  cell. 

Wherein  to  dwell ; 
A  little  house,  whose  humble  roof 

Is  weather-proof ; 
Under  the  spars  of  which  I  lie 

Both  soft  and  dry ; 
Where  thou,  my  chamber  for  to  ward. 

Hast  set  a  guard 
Of  harmless  thoughts,  to  watch  and  keep 

Me,  while  I  sleep. 
Low  is  my  porch,  as  is  my  fate  : 

Both  void  of  state  ; 
And  yet  the  threshold  of  my  door 

Is  worn  by  th'  poor. 
Who  thither  come,  and  freely  get 

Good  words,   or  meat. 
Like  as  my  parlour,  so  my  hall 

And  kitchen's  small ; 
A  little  buttery,  and  therein 

A  httle  bin. 
Which  keeps  my  little  loaf  of  bread 

Unchipt,  unflead ; 
Some  little  sticks  of  thorn  or  briar 

Make  me  a  fire. 
Close  by  whose  living  coal  I  sit. 

And  glow  Uke  it. 
Lord,  I  confess  too,  when  I  dine. 

The  pulse  is  Thine, 
And  all  those  other  bits  that  be 

There  placed  by  Thee  ; 
The  worts,  the  purslain,  and  the  mess 

Of  water-cress, 
Wliich  of  Thy  kindness  Thou  hast  sent ; 

And  my  content 
Makes  those,  and  my  beloved  beet. 

To  be  more  sweet. 
'Tis  Thou  that  crown'st  my  glittering 
hearth 

With  guiltless  mirth. 
And  giv'st  me  wassail-bowls  to  drink. 

Spiced  to  the  brink. 


Lord,  'tis  Thy  plenty-dropping  hand 

That  soils  my  land. 
And  giv'st  me,  for  my  bushel  sown. 

Twice  ten  for  one  ; 
Thou  mak'st  my  teeming  hen  to  lay 

Her  egg  each  day  ; 
Besides  my  faithful  ewes  to  bear 

Me  twins  each  year ; 
The  while  the  conduits  of  my  kine 

Run  cream,  for  wine — 
All  these,  and  better.  Thou  dost  send 

Me, — to  this  end. 
That  I  should  render,  for  my  part, 

A  thankful  heart. 

Robert  Herrick. 


SAW  YE  NEVER  IN  THE 
MEADOWS. 

Saw  ye  never  in  the  meadows. 
Where  your  little  feet  did  pass, 

Down,  below  the  sweet  white  daisie.s. 
Growing  in  the  long  green  grass  ? 

They  are  like  to  little  children, 
Children  bred  in  lowly  cot. 

Who  are  modest,  meek,  and  quiet. 
And  contented  with  their  lot. 

Saw  you  never  lilac  blossoms. 

Or  acacia  wliite  and  red, 
Waving  brightly  in  the  sunshine. 

On  the  tall  trees  overhead  ? 

They  are  like  to  other  children. 
Children  of  the  high  and  great. 

Who  are  gracious,  good,  and  gentle. 
Serving  God  in  their  estate. 


Day  by  day  the  Uttle  daisy 
Looks  up  with  its  yellow  eye. 

Never  murmurs,  never  wishes 
It  were  hanging  up  on  high. 


And  God  loveth  all  His  children, 
Rich  and  poor,  and  high  and  low. 

And  they  all  shall  meet  in  Heaven, 
Who  have  served  Him  here  below . 

Mrs.  Cecil  Frances  Alexander. 

27 


418 


Poems  for  Children. 


THE  RAVEN  BUILDS   HEB 
NEST  ON  HIGH. 

The  raven  builds  lier  nest  on  high. 
The   loud    winds   rock   her   craving 
brood, 

The  forest  echoes  to  their  cry  : 
Who  gives  the  ravens  food  t 

The  lion  goeth  forth  to  roam 

Wild  sandy  hills  and  plains  among, 

He  leaves  his  httle  whelps  at  home : 
Who  feeds  the  Uon's  young  ? 

Cod  hears  the  hungry  hons  howl. 
He  feeds  the  raven  hoarse  and  grey  : 

'.'ares  He  alone  for  beast  and  fowl  ? 
Are  we  less  dear  than  they  ? 

Xay,  Christian  Child,  kneel  down  and 
own 

The  Hand  that  feeds  thee  day  by  day, 
Nor  careless  with  thy  hp  alone. 

For  "  all  things  needful  "  pray. 


Then  not  alone  for  earthly  food 

Teaoh    us    with    hsping    tongue    to 
pray  :  — 
The  heavenly  meat  that  makes  us  good, 
Lord  give  us  day  by  day. 

Mrs.  Cecil  Frances  Alexander. 


THE   DYING  CHRISTIAN   TO 
HIS  SOUL. 

Vital  spark  of  heavenly  flame  ! 
Quit,  oh,  quit  tliis  mortal  frame  : 
Trembhng,  hoping,  lingering,  flying. 
Oh,  the  pain,  the  bUss  of  dying  ! 

Cease,  fond  Nature,  cease  thy  strife. 

And  let  us  languish  into  life. 

Hark  !  they  whisper  ;  angels  say, 
"  Sister  spirit,  come  away." 
What  is  this  absorbs  me  quite  ? 
Steals  my  senses,  shuts  my  sight, 

Drowns  my  spirit,  draws  my  breath  ? 

Tell  me,  my  soul,  can  this  be  death  ? 

The  world  recedes  ;  it  disappears  ! 
Heaven  opens  on  my  eyes  !  n;y  eats 
With  sounds  seraphic  ring  : 


Lend,  lend,  your  wings  !  I  mount !  I  fly  ! 
O  Grave  !  where  is  thy  victory  ? 
O  Death  !  where  is  thy  sting  ? 

Alexander  Pope. 


WITHIN    THE    CHURCHYARD 
SIDE  BY  SIDE. 

WiTHTN  the  churchyard  side  by  side, 

Are  many  long  low  graves. 
And  some  have  stones  set  over  them, — 

On  some  the  green  grass  waves. 

Full  many  a  little  Chi-istian  child. 
Woman  and  man,  lie  there  ; 

And  we  pass  by  them  every  time 
When  we  go  in  to  prayer. 

They  cannot  hear  our  footsteps  come, 

They  do  not  see  us  pass. 
They  cannot  feel  the  bright  warm  sun. 

That  shines  upon  the  grass. 

They  do  not  hear  when  the  great  bell 

Is  ringing  over-head  ; 
They  cannot  rise  and  come  to  Church 

With  us,  for  they  are  dead. 

But  we  believe  a  Day  shall  come, 

When  all  the  dead  will  rise, 
When  they  who  sleep  down  in  the  grave 

Will  ope  again  their  eyes. 

For  Christ  our  Loed  was  buried  once, 

He  died  and  rose  again. 
He  conquered  death.  He  left  the  grave. 

And  so  wiU  Christian  men. 

So  when  the  friends  we  love  the  best 
Lie  in  their  churchyard  bed, 

We  must  not  cry  too  bitterly 
Over  the  happy  dead  ; 

Because  for  our  dear  Saviour's  sake 

Our  sins  are  all  forgiven, 
And  Christians  only  fall  asleep. 

To  wake  again  in  heaven. 

Mrs.  Cecil  Frances  Alexander. 


ABIDE  WITH  ME. 

Abide  with  me  !  fast  falls  the  eventide  ; 
The  darkness  deepens  ;   Lord,  with  m« 
abide ! 


Hymns. 


419 


When  other  helpers  fail,  and  comforts 

flee, 
Help  of  the  helpless,  O  abide  witli  inc. 

Swift  to  its  close  ebbs  out  life's  little 

day  ; 
Earth's  joys  grow  dim,  its  glories  pass 

away  ; 
Change  and  decay  in  all  around  I  see  : 

0  Thou  who  changest  not,  abide  with 
me  ! 

Not  a  brief  glance  I  beg,  a  passing  word 
But  as  Thou  dwell'st  with  Thy  disciples, 

Lord, 
Familiar,  condescending,  patient,  free. 
Come  not  to  sojourn,  but  abide  with  me. 

Come  not  in  terrors,  as  the  King  of 

kings. 
But  kind   and  good,   with  healing  in 

Thy  wings  ; 
Tears  for  all   woes,  a  heart  for  every 

plea  ; 
Come,    Friend   of  sinnere,    thus   abide 

with  me  ! 

Thou  on  my  head  in  earlj'  youth  didst 

smile. 
And,    though   rebellious    and   perverse 

meanwhile. 
Thou  hast  not  left  me,   oft  as  I  left 

thee : 
On  to  the  close,  0  Lord  !  abide  with  nie. 

1  need  Thy  presence  every  passing  hour. 
What  but  Thy  grace  can  foil  the  rcinp- 

ter's  power  ? 
Who  like  Thyself  iny  guide  and  stay 

can  be  ? 
Through  cloud  and  sunshine,  O  abide 

with  me  ! 

I  fear  no  foe,   with  Thee  at  liaiid  to 

bless  ; 
Ills    have    no    weight,    and    tears    no 

bitterness. 
Where  is  death's  sting  ?  where,  grave, 

thy  victory  ? 
I  triumph  still,  if  Thou  abide  with  me  ! 

Hold    Thou    Thy    Cross    before    my 

closing  eyes, 
Shine   through   the   gloom,    and   point 

me  to  the  skies  ; 
Heaven's  morning  breaks,  and  earth's 

vain  shadows  flee  ; 
In  life,  in  death,  O  Lord  !  abide  witli  me. 
Bev.  Henry  Francis  Lyte. 


EVENING  SONG. 

LtTTiiE  birds  sleep  sweetly 
in  their  soft  round  nests, 

Croucliing  in  the  cover 
Of  their  motliers'    breasts. 

Little  lambs  lie  quiet. 

All  the  summer  night 
With  their  old  ewe  niuthers. 

Warm,  and  soft,  and  \\'hite. 

But  more  sweet  and  quiet 

Lie  our  little  heads, 
With  our  own  dear  mothei'3 

Sitting  by  our  beds  ; 

And  their  soft  sweet  voices 

Sing  our  husli-a-bics. 
While  th  ■  room  grows  darker 

As  we  shut  our  eyes. 

And  we  play  at  evening 
Round  our  father's  knees ; 

Birds  are  not  so  merry, 
Singing  on  the  trees  ; 

Lambs  are  not  so  happy, 
'Mid  the  meadow  flowers  ; 

They  have  play  and  pleasure 
But  not  love  like  ours. 

But  the  heart  that's  loving. 
Works  of  love  will  do  ; 

Those  we  dearly  cherish. 
We  must  honour  too. 

To  our  father's  teaching 

Listen  day  by  day. 
And  our  mother's  bidding 

Cheerfully  obey. 

For  when  in  His  childliood 
Our  dear  Lord  was  here. 

He  too  was  obedient 
To  His  Mother  dear. 

And  His  little  children 

Must  be  good  as  He, 
Gentle  and  submissive. 

As  He  used  to  be. 

Mrs.  Cecil  Frances  Alrxanrhr. 

NOW  THE  DAY  IS  OVER 

Now  the  day  is  over. 
Night  is  drawing  nigh. 

Shadows  of  the  evening 
Steal  across  the  sky. 

27* 


420 


Poems  for  Children. 


Now  the  darkness  gathers, 

Stars  begin  to  peep. 
Birds,  and  beasts,  and  flowera 

Soon  will  be  asleep. 

Jesu,  give  the  weary 

Calm  and  sweet  repose ; 

With  thy  tend'rest  blessing 
May  mine  eyelids  close. 

Grant  to  little  children 
Visions  bright  of  Thee ; 

Guard  the  sailors  tossing 
On  the  deep  blue  sea. 

Comfort  every  sufferer 
Watching  late  in  pain  ; 

Those  who  plan  some  evil, 
From  their  sin  restrain. 

Through  the  long  night  watches 
May  Thine  Angels  spread 

Their  white  wings  above  me. 
Watching  round  my  bed. 

When  the  monung  wakens. 

Then  may  I  arise, 
Pure  and  fresh  and  sinless 

In  Thy  Holy  Eyes. 

Glory  to  the  Father, 

CJio  y  to  the  Son, 
And  to  Thee,  Blest  Spirit, 

WhiL-  all  ages  run. 


Rev.  S.  Baring -Oovld. 


EVENING  HYMN. 

Glory  to  Thee,  my  God,  this  night. 
For  all  the  blessings  of  the  light ; 
Keep  me,  O  keep  me,  I^ng  of  kings, 
Under  Thy  own  Almighty  wings  ! 

Forgive  me.  Lord,  for  Thy  dear  Son, 
Thd  iUs  that  I  this  day  have  done  ; 
That  with  the  world,  myself,  and  Thee, 
I,  ere  I  sleep,  at  peace  may  be. 

Teach  me  to  live,  that  I  may  dread 
The  grave  as  little  as  my  bed  ; 
Teach  me  to  die  that  so  I  may 
With  joy  behold  th?  judgment  day. 


O  may  my  soul  on  Thee  repose, 

And    with    sweet   sleep    mine    eyelids 

close  ! 
Sleep,  that  may  me  more  active  make 
To  serve  my  God  when  I  awake. 

When  restless  in  the  night  I  lie. 
My  soul  with  heavenly  thoughts  supply ; 
Let  no  ill  dreams  disturb  my  rest. 
No  powers  of  darlcness  me  molest. 

Let  my  blest  Guardian,  while  I  sleep. 
His  watchful  station  near  me  keep  ; 
My  heart  with  love  celestial  fill. 
And  guard  me  from  the  approach  of  ill. 

Lord,  let  my  soul  for  ever  share 
The  bliss  of  Thy  paternal  care ; 
'Tis  heaven  on  earth,  'tis  heaven  above. 
To  see  Thy  face,  and  sing  Thy  love. 

l^Bishop]  Thomas  Ken. 


EVENING  HYMN. 
God,  that  madest  earth  and  heaven. 

Darkness  and  light ! 
Who  the  day  for  toU  hast  given. 

For  rest,  the  night ; 

May  Thine  angel  guards  defend  us. 
Slumber  sweet  Thy  mercy  send  us. 
Holy  dreams  and  hopes  attend  us, 
This  livelong  night ! 

Guard  us  waking,  guard  us  sleeping 

And,  when  we  die. 
May  we  in  Tuy  mighty  keeping 

AH  peacefid  lie : 

When  the  last  dread  call  shall  wake  us. 
Do  not  Thou,  our  God  forsake  us. 
But  to  reign  in  glory  take  us 
With  Thee  on  high. 

{Bishojp)  Reginald  Heber, 


A    CHILD'S   EVENING 
PBAYEE. 
Jesus,   tender  Shepherd,   hear  me 

Bless  Thy  little  lamb  to-night ; 
Through  the  darkness  be  Thou  near  nif, 
Watch  my  sle.'p  till  morning  liglit. 


Hymns. 


421 


All  this  day  Thy  hand  has  led  me. 
And  I  thank  Thee  for  Thy  care  ; 

Thou  hast  cloth'd  and  warm'd  and  fed 
me ; 
Listen  to  my  evening  prayer. 

Let  my  sins  be  all  forgiven  ! 

Bless  the  friends  I  love  so  well ! 
Take  me,  when  I  die,  to  Heaven  ; 

Happy,  there  with  Thee  to  dwell. 

May  Lundie  Duncan. 


CHILD'S     EVElSriNG    PBAYEK. 
Ere  on  my  bed  my  hmbs  I  lay, 
God  grant  me  grace  my  prayers  to  say  ! 
O  God,  preserve  my  mother  dear 
In  health  and  strength  for  many  a  year. 
And  O  preserve  my  father  too, 
And  may  I  pay  him  reverence  due  ; 
And  may  I  my  best  thoughts  employ 
To  be  my  parents'  hope  and  joy  ! 
And  O  preserve  my  brothers  both 
From  evil  doings  and  from  sloth, 
And  may  we  always  love  each  other. 
Our  friends,  our  father,  and  our  motlier  ! 
And  still,  O  Lord,  to  me  impart 
An   innocent  and   grateful   heart, 
That  after  my  last  sleep  I  may 
Awake  to  Thy  eternal  day.     Amen. 
S.  T.  Coleridge. 


EVENTNTO  HYMN. 
On  the  dark  hill's  western  side 
The  last  purple  gleam  has  died. 
Twilight  to  one  solemn  hue 
Changes  all,  both  green  and  blue. 

In  the  fold  and  in  the  nest. 
Birds  and  lambs  are  gone  to  rest, 
Labour's  weary  task  is  o'er. 
Closely  shut  the  cottage  door. 

Saviour,  ere  in  sweet  repose 

I  my  weary  eyelids  close. 

While  my  mother  through  the  gloom 

iSingeth  from  the  outer  room  ; 

While  across  the  curtain  white. 
With  a  dim  uncertain  light. 
On  the  floor  the  faint  stars  shine. 
Let  my  latest  thought  be  Thine. 


If  my  slumbers  broken  be. 
Waking  let  me  think  of  Thee; 
Darkness  caimot  make  me  fear. 
If  I  feel  that  Thou  art  near. 

Happy  now  I  turn  to  sleep  ; 
Thou  wilt  watch  around  me  keep, 
Him  no  danger  e'er  can  harm. 
Who  lies  cradled  in  Thine  arm. 

Mra.Gecil  Frances  Alexander. 


INDEX  OF   AUTHORS. 


PAGE 

ADDisoy,  Joseph  (1672-1719). 

The  Lord  is  my  pasture 408 

The  spacious  finiiainent  above     ..  40G 

AiKihT,  Lucy  (1781-18(34). 

Constantinople 1G2 

India   1()2 

Lapland    1&2 

Old  Beggar,  The 42 

Swallow,  The  228 

Which  way  does  the  wind  blow  ?. .  KM) 

Alexaxder,  Cecil  Frances  (1818- 
1895). 

Creation,  The 40.", 

Evening  Hymn 42 1 

Little  birds  sleep  sweetly 419 

Little  Sister  left  in  charge.  The    . .  37 

Morning  Hymn   404 

Once  in  Royal  David's  city 414 

Raven  builds  her  nest  on  high.  The  418 

Saw  ye  never  in  the  meadows 417 

Snowdrop,  The  411 

There  is  a  green  hill  far  away 41 1 

Within  the  churchyard  side  by  side  418 

Allingham,  William  (1824^1889). 

Bird,  The 221 

Fairies,  The 109 

Sailor,  The    291 

Spring  is  come 153 

Windlass  Song 293 

Winny   350 

Wishing 172 

Anonymous. 

Agincourt    261 

Babes  in  the  Wood,  The 298 

BailiS's  Daughter  of  Islington 329 

Barbara  Allen's  cruelty 343 

Blind  Beggar's  Daughter  of  Bethnal 

Green,  The  301 

BluebeU  of  Scotland,  The 278 

Butterfly's  First  Flight,  The   205 

Butterfly's  Funeral,  The   25 

Candle,  A 136 

Come  here,  little  Robin 9 

Crust  of  Bread,  The 6 

Deeds  of  kindness 7 


PAGE 

Fair  Helen  of  Kirconnel 342 

Good  King  Wenceslas     415 

Hunt  is  up,  The 185 

I  love  little  Pussy 7 

I  saw  three  ships 415 

Jovial  Welshmen,  The 237 

Lamb,  The  11 

Lament  of  the  Border  Widow,  The .  338 

Letters  at  School,  The 133 

Life  of  a  Fairy,  The 110 

Light-hearted  Fairy,  The 109 

Li  tt  le  Boy  and  Hoop 66 

Lord  Bateman   299 

Lord  Lovel 314 

Mary  Ambree 317 

My  Little  Sister    4 

North  Wind  doth  blow.  The 7 

Peter  Piper 136 

Sailor's  Adieu,  The 293 

Sailor's  Life,.-A 292 

Sir  Patrick  Spens 306 

Sleepy  Harry  21 

Speak  gently     9 

Summer  Song 10 

Sweet  William's  Ghost 334 

To  a  Hedge  Sparrow    220 

To  the  Crow 232 

Visifr  to  the  Lambs,  A 7 

Wanderer's  Song,  The 260 

When  a  twister  a  twisting    136 

When  Banners  are  waving 282 

Wild  Wreath,  The 45 

Arnold,  Matthew  (1822-1888). 

Forsaken  Merman,  The 372 

Baillie,  Joanna  (1762-1851). 

Good-morning    1 39 

Good-night 141 

Kitten,  The 210 

Outlaw's  Song,  The 348 

Shepherd's  Song,  The 167 

Barbauld,AnneLetitia(1743-1825). 

Dolls'  House,  The 78 

Insects 201 

Mouse's  Petition,  The 216 

To  a  Dog 216 


424 


Poems  for  Children. 


PAGS 

Babham,    Eet.    Richaed    Harris, 

Thomas  Ingoldsby  (1788-1845). 

Jackdaw  of  Rheims,  The 248 

Baring-Gottld,  Rev.  Sabine. 

Now  the  Day  is  over 419 

Onward,  Christian  Soldiers 416 

Barnfield,  Richaed  (1574^1627). 

Nightingale,  The 226 

Barton,  Bernard  (1784-1849). 

England's  Oak 181 

Ocean,  The 290 

Squirrel,  The  219 

Beaumont,  Francis  (1584-1616)  and 
Fletcher,  John  (1579-1625). 

Folding  the  Hocks 167 

Beddoes,    Thomas   Lovell  (1803- 
1849). 

To  Sea  !  To  Sea  !  289 

Bennett,  William  Cox  (1820-1895). 

Baby  May 195 

From  India 283 

Lullaby,  O  Lullaby 85 

Summer  Invocation 156 

To  a  Cricket 205 

Blake,  William  (1757-1827). 

Blossom,  The 168 

Chimney  Sweeper,  The  368 

Divine  Image,  The 389 

Echoing  Green,  The 187 

Fly,  The  208 

Holy  Thursday  378 

How  sweet  I  roamed 377 

Infant  Joy 4 

Lamb,  The 21 

Land  of  Dreams,  The 388 

Laughing  Song 368 

Little  black  boy 369 

Little  boy  found 369 

Little  boy  lost 369 

Night 141 

Nurse's  Song 370 

On  another's  sorrow 377 

Piper,  The  366 

Shepherd 167 

Sleep,  sleep,  beauty  bright    85 

Spring 154 

Sweet  dreams  form  a  shade  85 

Tiger,  The 220 

Bloomfield,  Robert  (1766-1823). 

Fakenham  Ghost,  The 251 

Horkey,  The 252 

Lambs  at  play 218 

BoNAR,  Rev.  Horatius  (1808-1889). 

I  heard  the  voice  of  Jesus  say 410 


PAQB 

Bowles,  Rev.  William  Lisle  (1762- 
1850). 

Butterfly  and  the  Bee,  The 206 

Caged  Bird,  The 222 

Swallow  and  Redbreast,  The 228 

Bourne,    Vincent,    see     Cowpeb, 
William. 

Brewer,    Dr.    Ebenezeb    Cobhax 
(1810-1897). 

Little  Things 37 

Bronte,  Emily  Jane  (1818-1848). 

Bluebell,  The ..:  174 

Linnet  in  the  rocky  dells.  The  ....  343 

Love  and  Friendship    378 

Browning,     Elizabeth     Bareett- 
(1806-1861). 

Child's  Thought  of  God,  A 407 

Lessons  from  the  Gorse 174 

My  Doves 224 

Pet-name,  The 368 

Portrait,  A  357 

Romance  of  the  Swan's  Nest,  The  33u 

Sea-Mew,  The    236 

Browning,  Robert  (1812-1889). 

Boy  and  the  Angel,  The 382 

Cavalier  Song,  A 270 

Home  Thoughts  from  Abroad    ....  265 

Home  Thoughts  from  the  tiea    ....  265 
How  they  brought  the  good  news 

from  Ghent  to  Aix 287 

Incident  of  the  French  Camp 286 

Pied  Piper  of  HameUn,  The 243 

Year's  at  the  Spring,  The 139 

Bruce,  Michael  (1746-1767). 

Ode  to  the  Cuckoo 226 

Bryant,   William   Cullen   (1794- 
1878). 

Gladness  of  Nature,  The 143 

Death  of  the  Flowers,  The 183 

Hymn  to  the  North  Star 142 

March    154 

New  Moon,  The 156 

To  the  Fringed  Gentian 177 

To  a  Water  Fowl    235 

Bunyan,  John  (1628-1688), 

Pilgrim,  The 388 

Shepherd-boy's  Song 167 

Burns,     Rev.     James     Deualmond 
(1823-1864). 
Speak,    Lord,    for    Thy    servant 

heareth    406 

BuENS,  Robert  (1759-1796). 

Bruce  to  his  Army ....  287 

Chloe  362 

For  a'  that,  and  a'  that 262 

I  love  my  Jean 363 

'  John  Anderson  378 


Index  of  Authors. 


42J 


PAGE 

John  Barleycorn  250 

My  heart's  in  the  Highlands 279 

My  Nannie's  awa' 362 

Rosebud,  A 171 

To  a  Mountain  Daisy 176 

Up  in  the  morninij  early 151 

Wounded  Hare,  The    217 

Byron,     George     Gordon,     Lord 
(1788-1824). 

Destruction  of  Sennacherib,  The. .  262 

Evening    140 

Eve  of  the  Battle  of  Waterloo,  The  274 

Isles  of  Greece,  The 263 

Napoleon's  Farewell 279 

Pleasant  Things 188 

She  walks  in  Beauty 304 

Vision  of  Belshazzar,  The 411 

Cajipbell,  Thomas  (1777-1844). 

Adelijitha    286 

Battle  of  Hohenlinden,  The 285 

Battle  of  the  Baltic,  Tlie 273 

Beech- tree's  Petition,  The 124 

Exile  of  Erin 276 

Field  Flowers   173 

Irish  Harper,  The 276 

Lord  Ullin's  Daughter 346 

Men  of  England 265 

Maid  of  Neidpath,  The 335 

Napoleon  and  the   Eng.ish  Sailor 

Boy 285 

Parrot,  The 2o2 

Rainbow,  The 150 

Soldier's  Dream,  The 284 

Trafalgar 273 

Ye  Mariners  of  England   267 

Caeew,  Lady  Elizabeth  (fl.  1590). 

True  Greatness 262 

Carew,  Thomas  (1598  ?  1639  ?). 

Now  that  Winter's  gone 154 

Carey,  Henry  (d.  1743). 

God  Save  the  Kuig 267 

Caklyle,  Thomas  (1795-1881). 

Dawning  Day,  The 380 

CaETWKIGHT,  WiLLIAil  (1011-1643). 

Dead  Sparrow,  The 225 

Chatterton,  Thomas  (1752-1770). 

Hymn  for  Christmas  Day,  A 413 

Minstrel's  Song  in  "  Ella  " 398 

Cherry,  Andrew  (1762-1812). 

Bay  of  Biscay,  The 294 

CiBBEE,  Colley  (1671-1757). 

Blind  Boy,  The 43 

Clare,  John  (1793-1864). 

Thrush's  Nest,  The 234 

To  a  Primrose 172 


PAGE 

Coleridge,  Hartley  (1796-1849). 

Lark  and  the  Nightingale,  The 222 

Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor  (1772- 
1834). 

Answer  to  a  Child's  Question    ....  379 

Boy  in  the  Wilderness,  The     SOti 

Ch  Id's  Evening  Prayer     42 1 

If  I  had  but  two  little  wings 38H 

Kubla  Khan '6'.r2 

Raven,  The 12:! 

Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner,  The  307 

Up,  up  ye  Dames  and  Lasses  gay  . .  185 

Coleridge,  Sara  (1802-1852). 

Months,  The 152 

Collins,  William  (1721-1759). 

How  sleep  the  brave  ! 262 

Cook,  Eliza  (1818-1889). 

A.  B.  C 132 

Blind  Boy  at  play.  The 44 

Death  of  Master  Tommy  Rook,  The  29 

Home  for  the  HoHdays 30 

King  Bruce  and  the  Sjiider 36 

Mouse  and  the  Cake,  The 28 

Old  Arm-chair,  The 191 

Old  Dobbm 26 

Summer 150 

"Cornwall,  Barry,"  Bryan  Waller 
Procter  (1787-1874). 

Blood-Horse,  The 218 

Fate  of  the  Oak,  The 180 

Fisherman,  The 295 

Hunter's  Song,  The 184 

Horned  Owl,  The 229 

Sea,  The  289 

Stars,  The 143 

Stormy  Petrel,  The 236 

Cowley,  Abraham  (1618-1667). 

Grasshopper,  The  204 

CowPEH,  William  (1731-1800). 

Alexander  Selkirk  288 

Beau's  reply 214 

Boadicea 268 

Chaffinch's  Nest  at  Sea,  The 235 

Columbriad,  The 122 

Cottager  and  his  Landlord,  The    . .  122 

Cricket,  The  204 

Dispute  between  Nose  and  P^yes  . .  135 

Dog  and  the  Water  Lily,  The 213 

Epitaph,  An 215 

Epitaph  on  a  Hare 217 

Glowworm,  The    202 

Goldfinch  starved  in  h:8  cage,  The  234 

Innocent  'J'hief,  The 206 

John  Gilpin 255 

Maze,  The 173 

Miser,  The  131 

Narcissus 176 

Nightingale  and  the  Glowwonn,Tbe  126 


426 


Poems  for  Children. 


PAGE 

On  a  spaniel  called  *'  Beau  "    214 

On  the  loss  of  the  Royal  George ....  272 
On    the   Receipt   of   my  Mother's 

Picture 385 

Pine-apple  and  the  Bee,  The 125 

Poplar-field  The 180 

Precept  and  Practice 121 

Retired  Cat,  The 211 

Rose,  The 173 

Snail,  The 203 

Sparrows  Self-domesticated,  The. .  225 

Squirrel,  The   219 

Woodman's  Dog,  The 214 

Yardley  Oak 182 

Cunningham,  Allan  (1791-1839). 

Wet  sheet  and  a  flowing  Sea,  A 293 

Devonshire,   Geoegiana,   Ditohess 
OF  (1757-1806). 

Traveller  in  Africa,  The 163 

DiBDiN,  Charles  (1745-1814). 

Before  Battle 270 

Tar  for  all  Weathers,  A 294 

Tom  Bowling 293 

DiBDiN,  Thomas  (1771-1841). 

Love  and  Glory 3G5 

DOBELL,  Sydney  (1824-1874). 

How's  my  boy  ? 295 

Orphan's  Song,  The 387 

Douglas,    William,    of    Fingland 

Annie  Laurie  346 

Drake,  Joseph  Rodman  (1795-1820). 

American  Flag,  The  282 

Drayton,  Michael  (1563-1631). 

Arming  of  Pigwiggen,  The 115 

Palace  of  Fairies,  The 115 

Queen  Mab's  Chariot 113 

Dryden,  John — from  Virgil  (1031- 
1700). 

War  Horse,  The 283 

Duncan,     Mary    Lundie    ("  Aunt 
Mary  ")  (1814-1840). 

Child's  Evening  Prayer,  A 420 

Child's  Morning  Prayer,  A 405 

Merry  Fly,  The 20 

My  Little  Brother 4 

Shadows,  The 34 

Dyer,  Sir  Edward  (1545  P-1607). 

Contentment 382 

Elliott,  Charlotte  (1789-1871). 

Just  as  I  am 409 

Elliott,  Ebenezer  (1781-1849). 

Rub  or  Rust 382 


PAGE 

Elliott,  Mart. 

Busy  Child,  The ' 52 

Crocus,  The 40 

Dangerous  Trial,  The 50 

I  will 65 

Last  new  doll,  The 67 

Negro,  The 39 

Nest,  The 15 

New  Looking-glass,  The .35 

New  shoes 52 

Oak,  The 40 

See-Saw 4R 

Silk  ^^'o^ms 46 

Think  before  you  act 53 

WhatisVeal? 15 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo  (1803-1882). 

Mountain  and  the  Squirrel,  The..  123 

Rhodora,  The 183 

Snow-storm,  The 151 

Fanshawe  Catherine  M.  (1765-1834). 

Riddle,  A  (the  letter  "  H  ") 132 

Fielding,  Henry  (1707-1754). 

A  Hunting  we  will  go 184 

FitzGerald,  Edward  (1809-1883). 

Song  of  the  Fire 191 

Fleming,  Marjoeie  (1803-1811). 

I  love  in  Isa's  bed  to  lie 351 

To  a  Monkey 14 

Follen,   Eliza   Lee  Cabot   (1787- 
1860). 

Birdie 15 

Oh  !  look  at  the  Moon 17 

Little  Boy's,  good-night 82 

Fhere,  John  Hookham  (1769-1841). 

Fables  for  five  years  old : 

Boy  and  the  Parrot,  The 110 

Boy  and  his  Top,  The 11!) 

Boy  and  the  Wolf,  The 12i ) 

Cavern  and  the  Hut,  The 120 

Nine-pins,  The 121 

Piece  of  Glass  and  the  piece  of  Ice, 

The 120 

Rod  and  the  Whip,  The 121 

Showing  how  the  Cavern  followed 

the  Hut's  advice 121 

Gay,  John  (1685-1732). 

Butterfly  and  the  Snail,  The 125 

Council  of  Horses,  The 127 

Eagle  and  the  Assembly  of  Animals, 

The 127 

Fox  at  the  point  of  death,  The 1:  8 

Lion  and  the  Cub,  The 128 

Turkey  and  the  Ant,  The 129 

Gilbert,  William  Schwenck. 

Captain  Reece 237 

Yarn  of  the  Nancy  Bell 240 


Index  of  Authors. 


427 


PACE 

GisBOENE,  Thomas  (1758-1846). 

Worm,  The 203 

Goldsmith,  Oliver  (1728-1774). 

Country  Parson,  The 199 

Deserted  Village,  The  (extract) 194 

Edwin  and  Angehna 327 

Elegy  on  the  Death  of  a  Mad  Dog, 

An 238 

Elegy  on  Mrs.  Mary  Rlaize,  An 239 

Gould,  Hannah  FL.\(i(i  (17S9-1865). 

Frost,  The 161 

Name  in  the  Sand,  A '.M) 

Ship  is  ready,  The 291 

Snow-flake,  The IGO 

Song  of  the  Bees 207 

Gray,  Thomas  (1716-1771). 

Elegy  written  in  a  Country  Church- 
yard    399 

Ode  on  the  death  of  a  favourite  cat .  239 

Grove,  Eliza. 

Cat  to  her  Kittens,  A 19 

Dancing  Lesson,  The 45 

Greedy  Piggy  that  ate  too  fast.  The  22 

Little  Hobby-Horse,  A 22 

Hastings,  Lady  Flora  (1806-1839). 

Early  Kising 3 

Prayers    405 

To  a  Butterfly 20 

IIawkshaw    Ann   ("  Aunt   Etlie.") 

(1812-1885). 

Chinese  Pig,  The 18 

Chorus  of  Frogs,  The 19 

Clocking  Hen,  The 20 

Common  Things 16 

Dame     Duck's     first     lecture     on 

Education  17 

Freddie  and  the  Cherry  tree 72 

Glowworms,  The 16 

Great  Brown  Owl,  The 17 

Little  Raindrops    35 

Muffin-Man's  Bell,  The 44 

Old  Kitchen  Clock,  The 45 

Pussy  Cat 10 

Kobin  Redbreasts,  The 11 

Turtle-Dove's  Nest,  Tiie 14 

Waves  on  the  Sea  Shore,  The 14 

Young  Linnets,  The 15 

Heber,    Bishop    Reginald    (1783- 

1826). 
.     Brightest  and  Best  of  the  Sons  of 

the  Morning 413 

Evening  Hymn 420 

From  Greenland's  lev  Mountains. .  416 

Lo  !  the  lilies  of  the  li.-ld 409 

Hemans,  Felicia  Dorothea  (1793- 
1835). 

Better  Land,  The    198 

Birds  of  Passage,  The 227 


PAGE 

Casablanca   272 

English  Boy,  The 264 

Fairies'  Recall,  The 118 

First  Grief,  The 197 

Graves  of  a  Household,  The" 198 

He  never  smiled  again 268 

Homes  of  England,  The 26() 

Landing  of  tlie  Pilgrim  Fathers,  The  280 

Name  of  England,  The 264 

Water-Lilies    IKi 

Hkrrick,  Robert  (1591-1674). 

Beggar,  to  Queen  Mab,  The 113 

Cherry  Ripe 350 

Ceremonies  for  Christmas 194 

Ceremony  for  Candlemas  Day 192 

Charm,  A 112 

Another  Charm 112 

Child's  Grace,  A 405 

Country  Life,  The 188 

Going  a-Maying 170 

Hag,  The 116 

His  Grange  or  Private  Wealth  ....  189 

Hock-cart,  or  Harvest  Home,  The  .  165 

Julia     365 

Night- Piece 364 

Oberon's  Feast    114 

Ode  on  the  Birth  of  Our  Saviour,  An  414 

Ternarie  of  Littles,  A 188 

Thanksgiving     to     God     for     His 

House,  A    417 

To  Blossoms 169 

To  DafTodils 177 

To  Meadows 169 

Upon  a  Child  that  died 196 

Violets  171 

Heywood,  Thomas  (fl.  1630). 

Pack  Clouds  away 3b4 

HicKSON,  William   Edward   (1803- 
1870). 

Try  Again 36 

Hoffmann,  Dr.  Heinrich,  ("  Strewel 

Peter  ")  (1809-1894). 
Dreadful  Story  about  Harriet  and 

the  Matches,  The 51 

Story  of  Augustus,  who  would  not 

have  any  soup.  The 60 

Story  of  Cruel  Frederick,  The 63 

Story  of  the  Inky  Boys 65 

Story  of  Little  Suck-a-Thumb,  The  66 

Hogg,  James    ("  The  Ettrick  Shep- 
herd ")  (1770-1835). 

Boy's  Song,  A 166 

Skylark,  The 222 

Hood,  Thomas  (1799-1845). 

Dream  of  Eugene  Aram,  The 332 

I  Remember 366 

ButU 361 


423 


Poems  for  Children 


PAGE 

Houghton,     Richaed    Monckton 
MiLNEs,  LoED  (1809-1885). 

Good-night  and  Good-morning  ....  3 

I  wandered  by  the  Brook-side    ....  379 

HowiTT,  Mart  (1799-1888). 

Barley-Mower's  Song,  The 164 

Broom-flower,  The 178 

'    Buttercups  and  Daisies 172 

Camel,  The 219  • 

Cornfields 164 

Fairies  of  the  Caldon-Low,  The 116 

Father  is  coming ; 194 

Fishmg-Boat,  The   295 

Hawking  Party  in  the  Olden  Time, 

A 185 

Humming-Bird,  The 234 

Lion,  The 220 

Locust,  The 209 

Monkey,  The 218 

Marien  Lee 363 

Old  Christmas    192 

Rose  of  May,  The 171 

September 157 

Spider  and  the  Fly,  The 26 

Swinging  Song,  A 45 

True  Story  of  Web-Spinner,  The ...  208 

Unregarded  Toils  of  the  Poor,  The .  261 

Voice  of  Spring,  The 152 

Winter  Fire,  The 158 

HowiTT,  William  (1792-1879). 

Northern  Seas,  The 290 

Wind  in  a  FroUc,  The 159 

Httnt,  Leigh  (1784-1859). 

Abou  Ben  Adhem  and  the  Angel . . .  383 

Glove  and  the  Lions,  The 348 

Jaffar 347 

To    the    Grasshopper    and    the 

Cricket 204 

Jenneb,  Edward  (1749-1823). 

Signs  of  Kain 148 

JONSON,  Ben  (1574—1637). 

Have  you  seen  a  bright  lily  grow  ? .  351 

Queen  Mab 112 

To  Diana 352 

Keats,  John  (1795-1821). 

December  157 

Fairy  Song    Ill 

Grasshopper  and  the  Cricket,  The . .  204 

I  had  a  Dove 225 

La  Belle  Dame  Sans  Merci 346 

Meg  MerriUes 371 

Keblb,  John  (1792-1866). 

Bathing  166 

Bird's  Nest,  The 222 

Gardening 170 

Noontide 140 

Rainbow  149 


PAOB 
Ken  (Bishop)  Thomas  (1637-1711). 

Evening  Hymn 420 

Morning  Hymn 404 

Key.  Francis  Scott  (1780-1843). 

Star-Spangled  Barmer,  The 281 

KiNGSLET,  Charles  (1819-1875). 

Farewdl,  A 365 

North-East  Wind,  The 159 

Sands  of  Dee,  The 358 

Three  Fishers,  The 376 

Ugly  Princess,  The 361 

Lamb,  Charles  (1775-1834). 

Hester   357 

Names,  The 350 

Lamb,   Charles   and  Mart  (1764:- 

1847). 

Anger 35 

Beasts  in  the  Tower,The 47 

Beggar-Man,  The 42 

Blindness 43 

Boy  and  the  Skylark,  The 56 

Boy  and  Snake,  The 71 

Breakfast 68 

Broken  DoU,  The 76 

Choosing  a  Name 4 

Choosing  a  Profession 72 

Cleanliness 55 

Cofiee  Slips,  The 178 

Crumbs  to  the  Birds 12 

Dessert,  The 69 

Envy   34 

Feigned  Courage 67 

First  Tooth,  The 6 

Going  into  Breeches 52 

Great-Grandfather,  The 6 

Memory 58 

Mimic  Harlequin,  The 59 

Neatness  in  Apparel 54 

Nursing   4 

Ofier,fhe 71 

Orange,  The 74 

Peach,  The 74 

Reproof,  The 57 

Thoughtless  Cruelty 56 

To  a  River  in  which  a  Child  was 

Drowned  393 

Two  Bees,  The 73 

Two  Boys,  The 68 

Wasps  in  a  Garden 56 

Weeding    70 

What  is  Fancy  ? 81 

Which  is  the  Favourite  ? 73 

Why  not  do  it,  sir,  to-day  ? 73 

Written  in  a  child's  memorandum 

book  73 

Landon,       Letitia         Elizabeth 
("  L.  E.  L.")  (1802-1838). 

Wind,  The 159 


Index  of  Authors. 


429 


PAGE 

Landor,  WAtTBB   Savage    (1775- 
1864). 

Rose  Aylmer 351 

Lear,  Edward  (1812-1888). 

There  was  an  old  man  in  a  tree. . . .  258 

There  was  an  old  man  with  a  beard .  258 

There  was  an  old  man  in  a  boat 258 

There  was  an  old  man  with  a  poker .  258 
There  was  an  old  man  who  said 

"Hush"  258 

Lewis.   Matthew  Gregory  (1775- 

1818). 

f  Allan  Water 330 

Lindsay,  Lady  Anne  (1750-1825). 

Auld  Robin  Gray 344 

Longfellow,    Henry   Wadsworth 
(1807-1882). 

Beleaguered  City,  The 303 

Bird  and  the  Ship,  The 393 

Excelsior 381 

Happiest  Land,  The 25!) 

Hymn  to  the  Night 142 

Light  of  the  Stars,  The 143 

My  Lost  Youth, 367 

Norman  Baron,  The   31  ■') 

Old  Clock  on  the  Stairs,  The 189 

Psalm  of  Life,  A 380 

Rain  in  Summer 148 

Rainy  Day,  The 149 

Sir  Humphrey  Gilbert 324 

Slave's  Dream,  The 324 

Village  Blacksmith,  The 200 

Wreck  of  the  Hesperus,  The 323 

Lover,  Samuel  (1797-18G8). 

Fairy  Boy,  The 115 

Fairy  Tempter,  The 115 

Lowell,  James  Russell  (1819-1891). 

Fatherland,  The 260 

Fountain,  The 146 

Heritage,  Thei 259 

Lyly,  John  (1558-1606). 

By  the  Moon  we  sport  and  play    ..  Ill 

Lyte,  Rev.  Henry  Francis  (1793- 
1847). 

Abide  with  me  418 

Officer's  Grave,  The  271 

Pleasant  are  Thy  Courts  above  . . .  409 

Macaulay,     Thomas     Babington, 
Lord  (1800-1859). 

Armada,  The  269 

Marvel,  Andrew  (1621-1678). 

Girl  and  her  Fawn,  The 220 

Song  of  the  Emigrants  in  Bermuda  296 

MicKLE,  William  Julius  (1735-1788). 

There's  nae  luck  about  the  house  .  337 


PAOB 
Midland,  Albert. 

Little  Lamb  went  Strajnng,  A  , . . .  407 

There's  a  Friend  for  Little  Children  408 

Miles,  Alfred  H. 

Big  and  Little  Things 33 

Little  Piper,  The 50 

Miller,  Thomas  (1807-1874). 

Day  is  Past,  The 140 

Industry  of  Animals 212 

Mister  Fly 207 

Mother  to  her  Infant,  The 85 

Mustard  Seed     182 

My  dearest  Baby,  go  to  sleep 86 

Sea-deeps,  The 290 

Spring  Walk,  The 155 

Sun,  The 150 

Miller,  William  (1810-1872). 

Gree,  Bairnies,    Gree    370 

Sleepy  Laddie,  The 371 

Willie  Winkie 370 

Milton,  John  (1608-1674). 

Fairy  Stories Ill 

Morning 139 

Song  on  May  Morning    156 

See  also  The  Cottager  and  his 
Land'ord,  p.  122,  under  Cowper, 
William. 

Mitford,  Mary  Russell  (1787-1855). 

Joy  of  Life 144 

Montgomery,  James  (1771-1854). 

Dai.sy,  The  176 

Soliloquy  of  a  Water- Wagtail 231 

Visible  Creation,  The 406 

Moore,  Thomas  (1779-1852). 

Canadian  Boat  Song 279 

It  is  not  the  Tear 376 

Last  Rose  of  Summer,  The 396 

Minstrel  Boy,  The    277 

Mountain  Sprite,  The 112 

Oft  in  the  Stilly  Night 396 

Peace  be  around  thee 396 

Sound  the  loud  Timbrel 410 

Those  Evening  Bells 396 

Thou  art,  O  Lord,   the  Life  and 

Light  410 

More,  Hannah  (1745-1833). 

Book,  A   132 

Moss,  Thomas  (d.  1808). 

Beggar's  Petition,  The 42 

Motherwell,  William  (1797-1835). 

Cavalier's  Song,  The 297 

Sing  on.  Blithe  Bird 221 

Water,  the  Water,  The 145 

Nash,  Thomas  (1567-1601). 

Spring   153 


430 


Poems   for   Children. 


PAGE 

Nursery  Rhymes. 

A  carrion  crow  sat  on  an  oak  ....  92 

A  cat  came  fiddling  out  of  a  barn  .  91 

A  frog  he  would  a  wooing  go 91 

A  little  cock-sparrow  sat  on  a  green 

tree 92 

As  I  walked  by  myself 97 

A  was  an  apple-pie 88 

A  was  an  archer 88 

Ba,  ba,  black  sheep 92 

Barber,  barber,  shave  a  pig    104 

Bat,  bat,  come  under  my  liat 92 

Bessy  Bell  and  Mary  Gray 103 

Betty  Pringle  had  a  httle  pig 103 

Bye,  baby  bunting 84 

Cock  a  doodle  doo  ! 92 

Come,  let's  to  bed 108 

Cross  patch 102 

Curly  locks,  curly  locks 107 

Dance,  my  baby,  diddy 84 

Diddledy,  diddledy,  dumpty  93 

Ding,  dong,  bell 93 

Doctor  Faustus  was  a  good  man  . .  90 

Elsie  Marley  is  grown  so  fine 101 

Fiddle-de-dee   96 

Four  and  twenty  tailors  went  to  kill 

a  snail  9G 

Gay  go  up  and  gay  go  do  wn 1 07 

Girls  and  boys  come  out  to  play  . .  KJtJ 

Goosey,  goosey  gander 93 

Handy  Spandy,  Jack-a-dandy  ....  106 

Hark,  hark,  the  dogs  do  bark 93 

Here's  a  poor  widow  from  Babylon  99 

Here  we  go  round  a  jinger  ring  ...  90 

Hey,  my  kitten,  my  kitten 96 

Hi !  diddle,  diddle 93 

Higgledy    piggledy     93 

Hot-cross  buns   97 

Himipty  Dumpty  sat  on  a  wall  . . .  106 

Hush-a-bye,  baby,  on  the  tree-top  84 

If  all  the  world  was  apple  pie  ....  97 
If  I  had  as  much  money  as  I  could 

spend     98 

I  had  a  little  husband    107 

I  had  a  little  nut-tree 97 

I  had  a  little  pony 93 

I'll  tell  you  a  story 97 

I  love  sixpence     98 

I  saw  a  ship  a-sailing 97 

Is  John  Smith  within  ? 97 

Jack  and  Jill  went  up  the  hill 107 

Jack  Sprat  could  eat  no  fat 107 

Johnny  shall  have  a  new  bonnet  . .  84 

Jenny  Wren  fell  sick 91 

Lady-bird,  Lady-bird, fly  away  home  93 

Little  Bo-peep  1U2 

Little  Boy  Blue 103 

Little  Jack  Horner    106 

Little  Polly  Fhnders 103 

Little  Miss  Mutlit    102 

Little  Tom  Tucker 103 


PAOE 

London  Bridge  is  broken  down  . . .  108 

Matthew,  Mark,  Luke  and  John  . .  108 

Mr.  East  gave  a  feast 97 

Mary,  Mary,  quite  contrary 103 

Monday's  child  is  fair  of  face  ....  89 

Mother,  may  I  go  and  bathe 103 

Multiplication  is  vexation   89 

Oh  !  dear,  what  can  the  matter  be  102 
Oh,  where  and  oh,  where  is  my  little 

wee  dog    105 

Old  King  Cole 90 

Old  Mother  Goose 10  i 

Old  Mother  Hubbard 99 

Old  woman,  old  woman 100 

One  misty  moisty  morning 98 

One  old  Oxford  ox 88 

One,  two,  buckle  my  shoe 88 

On  Saturday  night  107 

Over  the  water,  and  over  the  sea  .  107 

Pat-a-cake,  pat-a-cake,  baker's  man  97 

Pease  pudding,  hot 97 

Pemmy  was  a  pretty  girl 102 

Please  to  remember,  the  fifth  of  No- 
vember      96 

Polly,  put  the  kettle  on 101 

Poor  old  Robinson  Crusoe 90 

Pretty  maid,  pretty  maid 102 

Pussy-cat,  mole  96 

Pussy-cat,   pussy-cat,   where   luive 

you  been  ?    94 

Ride  a  cock-horse lUl 

Robin  and  Richard  were  two  pretty 

men        lOti 

Robin  Hood,  Robin  Hood 106 

Rowley  Powley,  pudding  and  pie  . .  105 

See  saw,  Margery  Daw 101 

Simple  Simon 105 

Sing  a  song  of  sixpence 8!t 

Sing,  sing,  what  shall  1  sing  ?  ....  91 

Sneel,  snaul 95 

Solomon  Grundy 105 

Tafiy  was  a  Welshman 105 

The  Cuckoo  is  a  fine  bird   93 

The  Barber  shaved  the  Mason 104 

The  Fox  jumped  up  on  a  moonlight 

night    95 

The  Hart  he  loves  the  high  wood. .  95 

The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 95 

There  was  a  crooked  man 105 

There  was  a  frog  lived  in  a  well  ....  95 

There  was  a  man  and  he  went  mad  105 

There  was  a  man  in  our  toone  ....  104 

There  was  a  man  of  Newington  . . .  104 

There  was  monkey 89 

There  was  a  little  boy  and  a  little 

girl     107 

There  was  a  little  maid 102 

There  was  a  little  man,  and  he  had 

a  little  gun 99 

There  was   a  little  man   and   he 

wooed  a  little  maid , .  JOO 


Index  of  Authors. 


431 


PAGE 

There  was  a  little  Rabbit  spvis;  ....  91 
There  was  an  old  woman,  and  what 

do  you  think   98 

There  was  an  old  woman,  as  I've 

heard  tell 100 

There  was  an  old  woman,   lived 

under  a  hill 98 

There  was  an  old  woman  toss'd  up 

in  a  basket 98 

There  was  an  old  woman  who  lived 

in  a  shoe 98 

There  were  two  blackbirds 91 

Thirty  days  hath  Septenil)er 8!) 

This  is  the  house  that  Jack  buill  lOG 

This  little  pig  went  to  market  ....  91 

Three  wise  men  of  Gotham    104 

To  market,  to  market,  to  buy  a  fat 

pig 9u 

Tom  he  was  the  piper's  .son    104 

Tom,  Tom,  the  piper's  son 104 

Tweedle-dum  and  tweedle-dee 103 

'Twas  once  upon  a  time 90 

What  are  little  boys  made  of  ?  ....  101 
AVhere  are  you  going,  my  pictiy 

maid?    ".  101 

When  good  King  Arthur  ruled  this 

land    W) 

Mho  comes  here  ? lO'.i 

Who  killed  Cock  Robin  ? 94 

Why  is  Pussy  in  bed  ? 94 

Young  lambs  to  sell 9b 

O'Keeffe,  Adelaide  (1775-1855). 

Beasts,  Birds  and  Fishes 39 

Foolish  Emily  and  her  Kitten  ....  59 

Frances  keeps  her  promise 78 

Georgeand  tlie  Chinmey  Sweeper  .  53 

Going  to  bed  at  Night f>3 

James  and  the  Shoulder  of  Mutton  61 

Little  Rose  and  her  bootlace 58 

Lucy's  Canary 79 

Mary  and  her  dog  Beau 57 

My  pretty  china  ornaments 190 

New  Year's  Gift,  A 77 

Nimble  Dick   (iO 

Use  of  Sight,  The 75 

Wooden  Doll  and  the  Wax  Doll,  The  7ti 

Oldys,  William  (1696-1 7tU). 

To  a  Fly 207 

Opie,  Amelia  (1769-1853). 

Orphan  Boy,  The  387 

Parker,  xMaktyn  (fl.  1630). 

Ye  Gentlemen  of  England 266 

Peacock,  Thomas  Love  (1785-1866). 

Oak  and  the  Beech,  The It^O 

Priest  and  the  Mulberry  Tree 251 

Plavfohd,  John  (1623-1686  ?). 

Jovial  Beggars,  The  240 


PAGE 

PoE,  Edoab  ALt,AN  (1809-1849). 

Annabelle  Lee 360 

Bells,  The 389 

Fairyland    110 

Haunted  Palace,  The 392 

Raven,  The 374 

To  Helen 351 

Pope,  Alexaxder  (1688-1744). 

Dying  Christian  to  his  Soul 41^ 

Ode  on  Solitude 395 

Prior,  Matthew  (1664-1721). 

To  a  child  of  noble  birth   350 

Phocteh.Adelaide  Anne  (1825-1864). 

A  Lost  Chord 387 

"Ramal,  Walter." 

Bunches  of  Grapes 48 

Child  in  the  Story  goes  to  bed,  The  82 

Dreamer,   The    388 

Hidden  Mermaids,  The 377 

Lost  Playmate,  The 378 

O  !  for  a  moon  to  light  me  home  395 

Ramsay,  Allan  (1686-1785). 

My  Peggy     360 

Ra.vds,William  Brighty  (1823-1882). 

Blue  Boy  in  London,  The 48 

World,  The 21 

RorjERS,  Samuel  (1763-1855). 

Epitaph  on  a  Robin  Redbreast,  An  229 

Dear  is  my  little  native  vale 187 

Sailor,  The  292 

Wish,   A    187 

Roscoe,   William  (1753-1831).   ,. 

Butterfly's  Ball,  The 24 

Scott,  Sir  Walter  (1771-1832). 

Christmas  in  the  Olden  Time 193 

Coarach     278 

Hie  Away   184 

Hunting  Song     184 

Jock  of  Hazeldean 337 

Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel 318 

Lochinvar   319 

Lullaby  of  an  Infant  Chief   87 

Melrose  Abbey 278 

Nelson   274 

Outlaw,  The 349 

Puimer,  The 321 

Proud  Masie 359 

Rosabelle    344 

Scotland    277 

Shepherd  in  Winter,  The     168 

True  and  the  False,  The 331 

War    283 

Weary  lot  is  thine,  A          395 

Shakespeare,  William  (1564-1616). 

Blow,  blow,  thou  Winter  wind 395 

Come  away  death 398 


432 


Poems  for  Children. 


PAGB 

Come  unto  these  yellow  sands  ....  372 

Dirge   399 

England  I.  "  This  royal  throne  of 

Kings "     263 

England  II.  "  This  England  never 

did,  nor  never  shall  "    263 

Full  fathom  five  thy  Father  Ues  . .  397 

Hark  !  hark  !  the  lark    139 

Man's  life    397 

Mercy    384 

Music     390 

Now  the  hungry  lion  roars    118 

Orpheus    179 

Over  hill,  over  dale 110 

Queen  Mab 113 

Rain,  it  raineth  every  day,  The  . .  372 
Songs  of  Autolycus,  The  : 

I.  When  daSodils  begin  to  peer  371 

II.  Jog  on,  jog  on,  the  footpath 

way    372 

III.  Will  you  buy  any  tape  ?     . .  372 

IV.  Lawn  as  white  as  driven  snow  372 
Through  the  House  give  glimmer- 
ing light    110 

Under  the  Greenwood  tree    166 

When  Icicles  hang  by  the  wall    . .  158 

Where  the  bee  sucks 20(5 

Who  is  Silvia  ?    352 

Wolsey      384 

You  spotted  snakes 114 

Shenstonb,  William  (1714-1763). 

Kid,   The    221 

Shepherd's  Cot,  The 168 

Shelley,  Pebct  Bysshe  {1792-1822) 

Autumn 157 

Cloud,  The 144 

Garden,  A 169 

To  a  Skylark 223 

Widow  Bird,  A 398 

SHIRLEY,  James  (1596-1666). 

Death's  Conquest   397 

SiGouRNEY,  Lydia  Huntley  (1791- 
1865). 

I  must  not  tease  my  mother 5 

Indian  names   281 

Smart,  Cheistophee  (1722-1771). 

Glorious  the  sun  in  mid  career  . . .  408 

Sweet  is  the  dew  that  falls  betimes  394 

Smith,  Chaelotte  (1749-1806). 

First  Swallow,  The 228 

Lady-Bird  in  the  House 203 

Nautilus,  The 210 

Sodthey,  Robert  (1774-1843). 

Battle  of  Blenheim,  The 320 

Cataract  of  Lodore 146 

Complaints  of  the  Poor,  The 386 

Father  William  322 

Fountain  of  the  Fairies,  The Ill 


PAGB 

Inchcape  Roct,  The 321 

Morning  Mist,  The 140 

Night  in  the  Desert 141 

To  a  Bee 207 

Travellers'  Return,  The 261 

Well  of  St.  Keyne,  The 326 

Southwell,  Robert  (1562-1595). 

New  Prince,  new  Pomp 414 

Procrastination    381 

Spencer,    Hon.    William    Robert 
(1770-1834). 

Beth  Gelert 325 

How-d'-y'-do  and  Good-Bye 135 

To  my  Grammatical  Niece 133 

Stodabt,  M.  a. 

Walk  in  Sprmg,  A 153 

Surrey,  Henry  Howard,  Earl  of 
(1517-1547). 

Wishes 394 

Swift,  Jonathan  (1667-1745). 

Riddle,  A  (The  Vowels) 132 

Tate,  Nahum  (1652-1715). 

While    Shepherds    watched    their 

Flocks  by  Night  413 

Taylor,   Ann  (Mrs.  Gilbert)  (1782- 
1866). 

Jane  and  Eliza    68 

Little  Bird's  complaint  to  his  mis- 
tress, The    69 

Meddlesome  Matty 51 

My  Mother 5 

Pin,  The    53 

Sheep,  The    12 

True  Story,  A 80 

Taylor,  Jane  (1783-1824). 

Ambitious  Weed,  The 46 

Chatterbox,  The 64 

Child's  Hymn  of  Praise,  A 405 

Cow,  The   9 

Cow  and  the  Ass,  The 38 

Dirty  Jim 5') 

English  Girl,  The 4S 

Farm,  The 41 

Flowers,  The 11 

Gleaner,  The 70 

Good-natured  Girls,  The 71 

Good-night   87 

Greedy  Richard 61 

Horse,  The  126 

Irish  Boy,  The   49 

Little  Fisherman,  The 63 

Little  Star,  The   7 

Mischief    62 

Now  and  Then 134 

Pond,  The 22 

Poppy,  The 15 

Reading 81 


Index  of  Authors. 


433 


FAOB 

Scotch  Laddie,  The 49 

Sluttisbness 54 

Spider  and  his  wife,  The   23 

Toad's  Journal,  The 201 

Village  Green,  The 41 

Violet,  The 11 

Welsh  Lad, 49 

Taylor,  Jeffreys  (1792-1853). 

D.>jr  of  Keflection,  The 129 

Milkmaid,  The     129 

Lion  and  the  Mouse,  The 130 

Young  Mouse,  The 131 

Tennyson,Alfred,Lord  (1809-1892). 

Aiuphion  179 

As  through  the  land  at  eve  we  went  37.t 

Heggar  Maid,  The 352 

Ulack-bird,  The 224 

Break,  break,  break 402 

Brook,  The 147 

Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade,  The  .  274 

Circumstance    379 

Death  of  the  old  year ]  58 

Dying  Swan,  The  233 

Edward  Gray 345 

Farewell,  A 402 

Home   they   brought   her   warrior 

dead  385 

Lady  Clare  358 

Lady  of  Shalott 339 

i>ord  of  Burleigh 338 

Mariana 363 

Maud   353 

May  Queen,  The 354 

New  Year's  Eve 354 

„              &  May  Queen.  Con- 
clusion    356 

Owl,  The 230 

Sir  Galahad 341 

.Splendour  falls  on  Castle  walls,  The  287 

Sweet  and  Low 84 

Ring  out,  ring  in 402 

Tears,  idle  Tears 399 

Thackeray,    William    Makepeace 
(1811-1863). 
Ah !    Bleak  and   Barren  was  the 

Moor 387 

Little  Billee 243 

Lucy's  Birthday 351 

Pocahontas  280 

Tragic  Story,  A 250 

Thomson,  James  (1700-1748). 

Rule,    Britannia 267 

TiCKELL,  Thomas  (1686-1740). 

Lucy  and  Colin 327 

TiOHE,  Mary  (1772-1810). 

To  a  little  girl  gathering  flowers  ...  79 


PAQI 

Turner,  Elizabkth. 

Bird  catcher,  The 40 

Bird's  nest,  The 12 

Canary,  The 20 

Cruel  Boy,  The 66 

Dainty  Frances 58 

Dangerous  sport 65 

Drawmg  Teeth 67 

Going  to  bed 67 

Good  gii-l,  The 78 

Greedy  boy,  The 62 

How  to  write  a  letter 82 

Letter,  The 44 

Miss  Sophia 59 

New  Book,  The 82 

Poisonous  Fruit 62 

Purloiner,  The 61 

Sash,  The 53 

Throwing  stones 64 

Truant,  The 65 

Worm,  The (J4 

Vaughan,  Henry   (1622-1695). 

Friends  departed 397 

Peace  398 

Warton,  Thomas  (1728-1790). 

Sunshine  after  a  shower 149 

Watts,  Isaac  (1674-1748). 

Ant  or  Emmet,  The 10 

Cradle  song,  A btJ 

How  doth  the  little  busy  bee f* 

Innocent  play 31 

Let  dogs  delight  to  bark  and  bite ...  9 

Love  between  brothers  and  sisters.  32 

Morning  of  Evening  Hymns 404 

Praise  for  mercies.  Spiritual  and 

Temporal 31 

Rose,  The 40 

Sluggard,  The 35 

WEilTHERLY,     FrED.     E. 

Bell's  Dream 241 

Lobster  and  the  Maid,  The 247 

No,  thank  you,  Tom 361 

Wesley,  Rev.  Charles  (1707-1788). 

Gentle  Jesus,  meek  and  mild 408 

Hark  the  Herald  Angels  sing 412 

Jesus  lover  of  my  soul 412 

Westwood,  Thomas  (1814-1888). 

Lost  Lamb,  The - 1 

Mine  Host  of  the  Golden  Apple ....  176 

White,   Henry    Kirkb   (1785-1806). 

To  an  early  Primrose 175 

Whitehead,  William  (1715-1785). 

On  the  Birthday  of  a  Young  Lady  365 

Wither,  George  (1588-1667). 

Sleep,  baby,  sleep 87 

Whitman,  Walt  (1819-1892). 

0,  captain,  my  captain 282 

28 


434 


Poems   for   Children. 


FAOK 

Whittxer,  John  Geebnleaf  (1807- 
1892). 

Corn  song,  The 165 

Wolf,  Rev.  Charles  (1791-1823). 

Burial  of  Sir  John  Moore 271 

Wordsworth,  Dorothy  (1771-1855). 

Address  to  a  child 32 

Cottager  to  her  infant,  The 32 

Loving  and  Liking 32 

Mother's  Eeturn,  The 8 

Wordsworth,  William  (1770-1850). 

Alice  FeU 335 

Blind  Highland  Boy,  The 196 

Childless  Father,  The 196 

FideUty 215 

Foresight 195 

Founding  of  Bolton  Priorv,  The  . . .  316 

Green  Linnet,  The ' 230 

Incident,  characteristic  of  a  favour- 
ite dog  313 

I  travelled  among  unknown  men  . .  265 

I  wandered  lonely  as  a  cloud 177 

Kitten  at  Play,  The 211 

Lucy 361 

Lucy  Gray 336 

My  heart  leaps  up  when  Itehold  . .  ^  jl51 


PAGE 

Parrot  and  the  Wren,  The 232 

Pet  Lamb,  The 12 

Power  of  Music,  The 391 

Redbreast  chasing  a  butterfly.  The .  229 

Reverie  of  Poor  Susan,  The 360 

Sailor's  Mother,  The 29« 

She  was  phantom  of  delight 352 

She  dwelt   among   the  imtrodden 

ways 353 

Seven  Sisters,  The 336 

SoUtary  Reaper,  The 353 

To  a  butterlly.     "  I  watched  you 

now  a  full  half-hour  " 205 

To  a  butterfly.  "Stay  near  me — do 

not  take  thy  flight " 206 

To  a  cuckoo 227 

To  the  small  celandine 175 

Waterfall  and  the  Eglantine,  The  . .  124 

.  We  are  seven 196 

Whirl- Blast,  The 151 

Wren's  nest,  A 230 

Written  in  March 155 

Wotton,  Sir  Henry  (1568-1639). 

Character  of  a  happy  life 379 

Young,   Andrew   (1807-1889). 

There  is  a  happy  land 412 


INDEX  OF   FIRST   LINES. 


PAGE 

A  barking  sound  the  shepherd  hears  215 
Abide    with    me !     fast    falls    the 

eventide   418 

A  bird  appeai-s  a  thoughtless  thing.      12 
Abject,  stooping,  old  and  wan  ....     42 
Abou  Ben  Adliem  (may  his  tribe  in- 
crease      383 

Abroad  in  the  meadows  to  see  the 

young  lambs 31 

A  carrion  crow  sat  on  an  oak 92 

A  cat  came  fiddling  out  of  a  barn  . .  91 
A  charming  present  comes   from 

town   77 

A  chieftain  to  the  Highlands  bound  340 
A  Creole  boy  from  the  West  Indies 

brought 72 

A  dinner  party,  cofifee,  tea fiS 

A  dog  growing  thinner,  for  want  of 

a  dinner 129 

A  fair  girl  was  sitting  in  the  green- 
wood shade 115 

A  fair  little  girl  sat  under  a  tree  . .  3 
A    fire's    a    good    companionable 

friend 158 

A  fox  in  life's  extreme  decay  ....  128 
A  fragment  of  a  rainbow  bright  . .    149 

A  frog  he  would  a- wooing  go 91 

Agincourt,  A.incourt ! 261 

A  goodly  host  one  day  waa  mine  .  176 
Ah  I  bleak  and  barren  was  the  moor  387 
Ah  I  Mary,  my  Mary,  why,  where 

is  your  Dolly  ? 54 

A  horse,  long  used  to  bit  and  bridle  126 
Ah  !  there's  the  lily,  marble  pale  . .  171 
Ah  !  what  avails  the  sceptred  race  351 
Alas  !  what  secret  tears  are  shed  .   261 

A  lion  cub  of  sordid  mind 128 

A  lion  with  the  heat  oppressed  ...  130 
A  little  boy  had  bought  a  top  ....   119 

A  little  boy  was  set  to  keep 120 

A  little  cock-sparrow  sat  on  a  green 

tree 92 

A  Uttle  Iamb  went  straying 407 

A  little  mushroom- table  spread  ...   114 


PACE 

A  little  saint  best    fits    a    little 

shrine   188 

All  in  the  morning  early 48 

All  tilings  bright  and  beautiful  . . .  40"> 
Almighty  Framer  of  the  skies  ....  413 
Alone  I  walked  the  ocean  strand  .  380 
A  milk- maid,  who  poised  a  full  pail 

on  her  head 12i) 

A  miser,  traversing  his  house  ....  131 
Among  the  dwellings  framed  by 

birds 230 

A  month,  sweet  little  ones,  is  past  8 
A  mother  came  when  stars  were 

paling 115 

A  mouse  found  a  beautiful  piece  of 

plum-cake    28 

An  ancient  cavern,  huge  and  wide  120 
And  wherefore  do  the  poor  com- 
plain      386 

And   where  have  you  been,    my 

Mary? 110 

And  so  you  do  not  like  to  spell  ....  81 
A  neat  little  book,  full  of  pictures, 

was  bought 82 

Anger  in  its  time  and  place 35 

An  idle  weed  that  used  to  crawl  . .     4(» 

An  infant  is  a  selfish  sprite 76 

A  nightingale,  that  all  day  long  , . .  126 
A  niuepin  that  was  left  alone  ....  121 
Announced  by  all  the  trumpets  of 

the  sky  151 

An  Orpheus  !    an    Orpheus  !     jet 

Faith  may  grow  bold     391 

A  pair  of  steady  rooks 29 

A  peasant  to  his  lord  paid  yearly 

court 122 

A  perilous  life,  and  sad  as  life  can 

be 295 

A  poet's  cat,  sedate  and  grave. ...  211 
Are  ye  no  gaun  to  wauken  the  day, 

ye  rogue  ? 371 

A  rosebud  by  my  early  walk 171 

Around  the  tire,  one  wintry  night . .  42 
Arthur  to  Robert  made  a  sign  .....     15 

28* 


436 


Poems  for  Children. 


PAOB 

As  busy  Aurelia, 'twixt  work  and 

'twixt  play    79 

A  sensitive  plant  in  a  garden  grew  160 

As  he  had  often  done  before 65 

A  simple  child,  that  lightly  draws 

its  breath 196 

As  in  the  simshine  of  the  morn ....    125 

As  it  fell  upon  a  day 226 

As  I  walked  by  myself  . . ...  .„«...     97 

As  Joe  was  at  play 61 

As  Jupiter's  all-seeing  eye 127 

A  spaniel,  Beau,  that  fares  like  you  214 

As  Sally  sat  upon  the  ground 64 

A  steed  !  a  steed,  of  matchless  speed  297 
As  Tommy  and  his  sister  Jane ....  62 
As  thro' the  land  at  eve  we  went . .  379 
A  tear  bedews  my  Delia's  eye  ....  221 
A  thousand  miles  from  land  are  we  236 
Attend,   aU  ye    who  list  to  hear 

our  noble  England's  praise 269 

At  the  corner  of  Wood  Street,  when 

daylight  appears 360 

Augustus  was  a  chubby  lad 60 

Awake,  awake,  my  Uttle  boy  ....  388 
Awake,  my  soul,  and  with  the  sun  404 

A  was  an  apple-pie 88 

A  was  an  archer,  who  shot  at  a  frog  88 
A  weary  lot  is  thine,  fair  maid ....  395 
A  well  there  is  in  the  west  country  326 
A  wet  sheet  and  a  flowing  sea  ....  293 
A  whirl  blast  from  behind  the  hill . .    151 

A  wicked  action  fear  to  do    56 

A  widow  bird  sate  mourning  for  her 

love     398 

A  youngster  at  school,  more  sedate 

than  the  rest 121 

Ba,  ba,  black  sheep 92 

Baby,  baby,  lay  your  head 87 

Barber,  barber,  shave  a  pig 104 

Barley-mowers,  here  we  stand. ...  164 
Bat,  bat,  come  under  my  hat  . .  92 
Beautiful,  sublime  and  glorious . .  290 
Before  the  bright  sun  rises  over  the 

hill    70 

Begone,  thou  fond  presumptuous 

Elf    124 

Behold  a  simple,  tender  Babe. . . .  414 
Behold  her,  single  in  the  field ....  353 
Behold,  the  Treasure  of  the  nest. .  222 
Behold  this  ground  !  There's  no- 
thing here    182 

Beneath   the   hedge   or  near   the 

stream    202 

Beneath  these   fruit-tree   boughs, 

that  shed 230 

Beside  a  green  meadow  a  stream 

used  to  flow 38 


tAGE 
Beside  the  Moldau's  rushing  stream  393 
Beside  the  ungathered  rice  he  lay . .   324 

Bessy  BeU  and  Mary  Gray 103 

Betty  Pringle  had  a  Uttle  pig  ....  103 
Between  Nose  and  Eyes  a  strange 

contest  arose   135 

Birdie,  birdie,  quickly  come 15 

Birdie,  birdie,  will  you  pet?  ....  221 

Bird  of  the  wilderness 222 

Birds  in  the  high  Hall-garden. . . .  353 
Birds,  joyous  birds  of  the  wander- 
ing wing 227 

Blow,  blow,  thou  winter  wind ....  395 
Boot,  saddle,  to  horse  and  away . .   270 

Break,  break,  break 402 

Brightest  and  best  of  the  sons  of 

the  morning    413 

Bright  glows  the  east  with  blushing 

red    41 

Bring  not  bright  candles,  for  her 

eyes 388 

Briskly  blows  the  evening  gale ....  295 
Brothers  and  sisters  I  have  many  73 
"  Bunches  of  grapes,"  says  Timo- 
thy         48 

Busy,  curious,  thirsty  fly 207 

But  a  few  words  could  WiUiam  say  73 
But  are  ye  sure  the  news  is  true  ? . .   337 

Buttercups  and  daisies 172 

Butterfly,  butterfly,  brilhant  and 

bright 20 

Bye,  baby  bunting    84 

By  the  moon  we  sport  and  play  . .  Ill 
Camel,  thou  art  good  and  mild  . .  219 

Can  I  see  another's  woe  ? 377 

Can  this  be  the  bird  to  man  so 

good 229 

Cheeks  as  soft  as  July  peaches ....   195 

Cherry  ripe,  ripe,  ripe,  I  cry 350 

Children  who  dehght  to  ramble . .  65 
Close  by  the  threshold  of  a  door 

nailed  fast   122 

Cock-a-doodle-do    92 

Cold  blows  the  north  wind  o'er  the 

mountains  so  bare 49 

Come  away,  come  away,  death . .  398 
Come  away,  elves,  while  the  dew  is 

sweet    116 

Come  bring  with  a  noise 194 

Come,  dear  children,  let  us  away . .   372 

Come,  follow,  follow  me 110 

Come  here,  little  Robin,  and  don't 

be  afraid 9 

Come  let's  to  bed    108 

Come,  my  Uttle  Robert,  near 55 

Come,  pretty  lamb,  do  stay  with 

me 11 


Index  of  First  Lines. 


43^ 


PAGE 

Come,  sons  of  summer,  by  whose 

toil    ' 165 

Come  take  up  your  hats,  and  away 

let  us  haste 24 

Come  unto  these  yellow  sands ....  372 
Cromwell,  I  did  not  think  to  shed 

a  tear   384 

Cross  patch,  draw  the  latch 102 

Curly  locks,  curly  locks! 107 

Dance  my  baby  diddy 84 

Dear  Agatha,  I  give  you  joy  ....  78 
Dear  faithful  object  of  my  tender 

care 216 

Dear  is  my  little  native  vale  ....  187 
"  Dear  me  !  what  signifies  a  pin  "  53 
Deeper  than  the  narwhal  sinketh . .  290 
Deep  graved  in  every  British  heart  274 
Diddledy,  diddledy,  dumpty    ....     93 

Did  j'ou  ever  see  the  nest 15 

Did  you  hear  of  the  curate  who 

mounted  his  mare  ? 251 

Dim  vales,  and  shadowy  floods..  110 
Ding,  dong  bell,  pussy's  in  the  well  93 
Doctor  Faustus  was  a  good  man  90 
Donald  Macdonald's  a  braw  httle 

lad    60 

Down  in  a  green  and  shady  bed . .  11 
Do\vn  with  the  rosemary  and  sow  192 
Do  you  ask  what  the  birds  say  ? . .  379 
Drawn  from  his  refuge  in  some 

lonely  elm    219 

Earl  March  looked   on  his  dying 

child 335 

Eliza   and   Anne   were   extremely 

distressed 12 

Elizabeth  her  frock  has  torn  ...,,     53 

Elsie  Marley  is  grown  so  fine 101 

Encinctured  with  a  twine  of  leaves  336 
Ere  on  my  bed  my  limbs  I  lay. .  . .   421 

Ever  after  summer  shower 149 

Faintly  as  tolls  the  evening  chime  .  279 
Fair  daffodils,  we  weep  to  see  ....  177 
Fair  pledges  of  a  fruitful  tree  ....   169 

Farmy,  now  that  we're  alone 50 

Fare-thee-well  !  the  ship  is  ready.  291 
Farewell    to  the   laud   where  the 

gloom  of  my  glory    279 

Father !    father,    where    are    you 

going  ?    369 

Fear  no  more  the  heat  o'  the  sun  . .  399 

Fiddle-de-dee,  fiddle-de-dee   96 

Flow  down,  cold  rivulet,  to  the  sea  402 
For  do  but  note  a  wild  and  wanton 

herd    ^ 390 

For  gold  could  Memory  be  bought  58 
For  the  tender  beech  and  the  sap- 
ling oak  ...  ^. ...  ^ ...  .^  ^  ^.  ^  ^.  180 


PAQE 

Forth  goes  the  woodman,  leaving 

unconcerned     214 

Four  and  twenty  tailors  went  to 

kill  a  snail    96 

Freddie  saw  some  fine  ripe  cherries  72 
From  Greenland's  icy  mountains. .  416 
From    morning   till   night   it   was 

Lucy's   delight    64 

From  right  to  left,  and  to  and  fro. .  173 
Full  fathom  five  thy  father  lies  . .  397 
Full  knee-deep  lie  the  winter  snow  158 

Gamarra  is  a  dainty  steed     218 

Gay  go  up,  and  gay  go  down 107 

Gentle  Jesus,  meek  and  mild 408 

Get  up,  get  up,  for  shame  !   the 

blooming  morn 170 

"  Get  up,  little  boy,  you  are  sleep- 
ing too  long  "  21 

Get  up,  little  sister ;   the  morning 

is  bright 3 

Girls  and  Boys  come  out  to  play. .  106 
Glorious  the  sun  in  mid  career. . . .  408 
Glory  to  Thee,  my  God,  this  night  420 

God  save  our  gracious  King 267 

God,  that  madest  earth  and  heaven  421 
Good  King  Wenceslas  looked  out  .  415 
Good  people  all,  of  every  sort  ....  238 
Good  people  all,  with  one  accord  .  239 

Goosey,  goosey  gander 93 

Great  God,  how    endless    is    Thy 

love 404 

Great  wide,    beautiful,  wonderful 

world    21 

Green  little  vaulter,  in  the  sunny 

grass 204 

Hail,    beauteous   stranger   of   the 

grove     226 

Hail  to  thee,  bUthe  spirit 223 

Half  a  league,  half  a  league 274 

Hamelin  town's  in  Brunswick  . . . .  243 
Handy  Spandy,  Jack  a  Dandy  . . .  106 
Hannah,  a  busy,  meddhng  thing  . .  52 
Happy  insect !  what  can  be  ?  ....  204 
Happy  the  man,  whose  wish  and 

care 395 

Hark,  hark,  the  dogs  do  bark 93 

Hark  !  hark  !  the  lark  at  Heaven's 

gate  sings 139 

Hark  !  hark  |  the  merry  warder's 

horn    185 

Hark  !  the  Herald  Angels  sing. . . .  412 
Haste  thee,  nymph,  and  bring  with 

thee 139 

Have  you  seen  but  a  bright  lily 

grow    351 

Heap    high    the    farmer's   wintry 

board 165 


438 


Poems  for  Children. 


Heap  on  more  wood,  the  wind  is 

chill  193 

Hear  the  sledges  with  the  hells  . . .  389 
Hear  your  sovereign's  proclamation  231 
Heave  at  the  windlass  ! — Heave  0, 

cheerly,  men  293 

He  is  gone  on  the  mountain 278 

Helen,  thy  beauty  is  to  me 351 

He  ne'er  had  seen  one  earthly  sight  1 90 
Henry  was  every  morning  fed ....  71 
He  quickly  arms  him  for  the  field  115 
Her  arms  across  her  breast  she  laid  352 
Her  blue  eyes,  they  beam  and  they 

twinkle 3.50 

Her  chariot  ready  straight  is  made  1 13 
Her  eyes  the  glow-worm  lend  thee  .   304 

Here  a  little  child  I  stand   405 

Here  a  sheer  hulk  lies  poor  Tom 

Bowling   293 

Here  in  this  wiry  prison  where  I 

sing 69 

Here  is  cruel  Frederick,  see 63 

Here  lies  one  who  never  drew  ....  215 
Here  lies,  whom  hound  did  ne'er 

pursue 217 

Here's  a  poor  widow  from  Babylon  99 
Here's  a  song  for  old  Dobbin,  whose 

temper  and  worth 26 

Here  she  lies,  a  pretty  bud 196 

Here  we  go  round  a  jinger  ring. ...  90 
He  that  is  down  need  fear  no  fall  . .    107 

He  was  a  gentle  lobster 247 

Hey,  my  kitten,  my  kitten 90 

Hi !  diddle,  diddle,  the  cat  and  the 

fiddle 93 

Hie  away,  hie  away 184 

Higgleby,  piggleby,  my  black  hen  93 
High  on  a  bright  and  sumiy  bed  ..  15 
His  petticoats  now  George  cast  off  53 
Home  for  the  Holidays,  here  we  go  30 
Home  they  brought  their  warrior 

dead    385 

Horatio,  of  ideal  courage  vain  ....      67 

Ho,  sailor  of  the  sea   295 

Hot  cross  buns  97 

How  beautiful  is  night 141 

How  beautiful  is  the  rain 148 

How  does  the  water  come  down 

at    Lodore  ?    140 

How  doth  the  little  busy  bee 8 

How  fair  is  the  Rose  !  what  a  beau- 
tiful  flower    40 

How  gaily  a  sailor's  life  passes  . . .  292 
How  happy  is  he  born  and  taught  .  379 
How  joyously  the  young  sea-mew  230 
How  sleep  the  Brave  who  sink  to 

rest   262 


PAGE 
How  sweet  I  roamed  from  field  to 

field 377 

How  sweet  is  the  shepherd's  sweet 

lot 167 

Humpty  Dumpty  sat  on  a  wall  . . .  106 
Hurrah !    for   meny   England,    no 

longer  will  I  roam 260 

Hush-a-bye  baby,  on  tlie  tree  top . .  84 
Hush'd  was  the  evening  hymn  . .  406 
Hush  !  my  dear,  lie  still  and  slum- 
ber     86 

I  am  monarch  of  all  I  survey  ....  288 

I  am  to  write  three  lines,  and  you  81 
"  I    bring    fresh    showers    for    the 

thirsting  flowers  " 144 

I  cannot  do  the  big  things 33 

I  come  from  haunts  of  coot  and  hern  1 47 

Idler,  why  lie  down  to  die 3S2 

If  all  the  world  were  apple-pie  ....  97 
If  I  had  as  much  money  as  I  coiikl 

spend    98 

If  I  had  but  two  little  A\'ings 388 

If  thou   wouldst  view  fair  Meh-ose 

aright   278 

If  ye  fear  to  be  benighted   112 

If  you're  waking  call  me  early,  call 

me  early,  mother  dear 354 

I  had  a  dove,  and  the  sweet  dove 

died 225 

I  had  a  little  bird   387 

I  had  a  little  husband 107 

I  had  a  little  nut-tree 97 

I  had  a  little  pony 93 

I  have  a  dog  who  never  barks 190 

I  have  a  little  sister 4 

I  have  a  name,  a  little  name 368 

I  have  got  a  new-born  sister 4 

I  have  no  name 4 

I  heard  the  trailing  garments  of  tlie 

niglit  142 

I  heard  the  voice  of  Jesus  say 410 

I  hear  thee  speak  of  a  better  land . .  198 
I'll  make  hdiere,  and  fancy  some- 
thing strange 59 

I'll  tell  you  a  story 97 

I  love  cont«mptating — apart 2;>r) 

I  love  it — I  love  it,  and  who  shall 

dare 191 

I  love  in  Isa's  bed  to  lie 351 

I  love  little  pussy 7 

I  love  sixpence,  pretty  little  si.x- 

pence 98 

I  love  the  little  snowdrop  flower.  ..411 

I'm  a  new  contradiction 132 

I'm  very  glad  the  spring  is  come . .  1 53 

I  must  not  tease  my  mother 5 

I  must  not  throw  upon  the  floor. . .  0 


i 


Index  of  First   Lines. 


439 


In  a  crack  near  a  cupboard,  with 

dainties  provided 131 

In  a  dark  little  crack,  half  a  yard 

from  the  ground 23 

In  a  drear-nighted  December 157 

In  a  land  for  antiquities  greatly 

reno\\Tied   201 

In    a    stage-coach    where    late    I 

chanced  to  be 43 

In  Christian  world  Mary  the  gar- 
land ^^•ears   350 

In  distant  days  of  wild  romance. . .    134 

In  her  ear  he  whi.spors  gaily 338 

In  his  chamber,  weak  and  dying. .  315 
Inhuman     man !      curse     on    thy 

l)arliarous  art 217 

In    May    when   sea-winds    pierced 

our  solitudes 183 

In  numbers,  and  but  these  few. . . .  414 
In  otlier  men  we  faults  can  spy. . . .  121) 
In  Scarlet-town  where  I  was  born.  343 
In  Scotland's  realm,   forlorn  and 

bare 235 

In  the  greenest  of  our  valleys 392 

In  the  hollow  tree  in  the  old  grey 

tower 229 

In  the  morning  when  you  rise 112 

In    the    water-tub    VVilliam    had 

found 55 

In  the  young  merry  time  of  spring .  104 

Into  the  sunshine 14() 

In  yonder  valley  there  dwelt  alone .  112 
In  your  garb  and  outward  clothing .     54 

In  Xanader  did  Kubla  Kkan 392 

I    prythee,     nurse,    come    smooth 

my  hair 82 

I  remember,  I  remember 366 

I  saw  a  boy  W'ith  eager  eye 68 

I  saw  a  ship  a-sailiug 97 

I  saw  the  pride  of  all  the  meadows.  176 
I  saw  three  ships  come  sailing  in. .  415 
I  sail'd   from   the   downs   in   the 

Nancy 294 

Is  John  Smith  within 97 

I  sprang  to  the  stiirup,  and  Joris 

and  he 287 

Is  there  for  honest  poverty 262 

I3   this   a  time   to  be  cloudy  and 

sad 143 

It  almost  makes  me  cry  to  tell ....  51 
I  thank  Thee,  Lord,  for  quiet  rest. .  405 
I   thank   the   goodness   and   the 

grace 405 

I   think   I   want  some   pies   this 

morning    61 

I  liiought  to  pass  away  before,  and 
yet  alive  I  am 356 


PAGE 

It  is  an  ancient  mariner. ..-..,....  307 

It  is  not  the  tear  at  this  moment 

shed 376 

I  travelled  among  unknown  men . .  265 
It  was  a  blind   beggar    had  long 

lost  his  sight 301 

It  was  a  summer  evening 320 

It  was  the  charming  month  of  May  362 

It  was  the  little  Isabel 241 

It  was    many  and    many  a  year 

ago    360 

It  was  the  schooner  Hesperus  ....  323 
It  was  the  time  when  lilies  blow  . .  358 
I've  plucked  the  berry  from  the 

bush    221 

I've  watched  you  now  a  full  half- 
hour  205 

I  wandered  by  the  brooksido 379 

I  wandered  lonely  as  a  cloud. . . . .™  177 
"  I  will  go  out,^'  Louisa  cried   . .  .^     65 

I  will  paint  her  as  I  see  her .,.  357 

I  wish  I  A\  ore  where  Helen  lies  ......  342 

Jack  and  Jill  went  up  the  hill . . ... . .  107 

Jatk  Parker  was  a  cruel  boy    .. . .     66 

Jack  Sprat  could  eat  no  fat 107 

JafTar,    the   Barmecide,   the   good 

Vizier 347 

Jane,  do  you  see  these  little  dots . .     46 
January  lirings  the  snow. . ... . . . ...   152 

Jenny  Wren  fell  sick . . .,. .,  .„ .,  .„     91 

Jesu,  lover  of  my  soul 412 

Jesus,  tender  Shepherd,  hear  me. .  420 
Jog  on,  jog  on,  the  foot-path  way.   372 

John  Anderson,  my  jo,  John 378 

John  Gilpin  was  a  citizen 255 

Johnny  shall  have  a  new  bonnet. . .     84 

Joy  to  Philip  !  he  this  day 52 

Just  as  I  am — without  one  plea. . .  409 
King  Bruce  of  Scotland  flung  him- 
self down 36 

King  Francis  was  a  hearty  king, 

and  loved  a  royal  sport 348 

Lady-bird,    lady-bird,    fly    away 

home 93 

Laid  in  my  quiet  bed  in  study  as 

I  were 394 

Lawn  as  white  as  driven  snow. . ..  372 

Lazy  sheep,  pray  tell  me  why 12 

Let  dogs  delight  to  bark  and  bite. .  9 
IvCt  India  boast  its  spicy  trees ....  181 
Let    those    who're    fond    of  idle 

tricks 62 

Lion,  thou  art  girt  with  might. . . .  220 

Listen  to  the  kitchen  clock „     45 

Little  Ann  and  her  mother  were 

walking  one  day .« .     80 

Little  birds  sleep  sweetly....^....  419 


440 


Poems   for   Children. 


PAGE 

Little  Bo-peep  has  lost  her  sheep. .  102 
Little   Boy   Blue,   come   blow   up 

your  horn 103 

Little  brother,  darling  boy 4 

Little  drops  of  water 37 

Little  Ellie  sits  alone 330 

Little  flutt'rer,  swifter  flying 220 

Little  fly,  thy  summer's  play 208 

Little  inmate,  full  of  mirth 204 

Little  Jack  Horner,  sat  in  a  corner.  106 
"  Little  kittens,  be  quiet — be  quiet, 

I  say  "    19 

Little  lamb,  who  made  thee  ?  .,.  .^     21 

Little  Miss  Muffit ,. 102 

Little  Nanny  Etticoat 136 

Little  Polly  Flinders 103 

Little  Tom  Jones 64 

Little  Tom  Tucker     103 

London  bridge  is  broken  down  . .  108 
Look  from  the  ancient  mountains 

down     2()4 

Look  now  at  his  odd  grimaces  ....  218 
Look,  William,  how  the  morning 

mists     140 

Lord  Bateman,  he  was  a  noble  lord  299 
Lord  Lovel  he  stood  at  his  castle 

gate       314 

Lord,  Thou  hast  given  me  a  cell. .   417 

Lo,  the  lilies  of  the  field 409 

Loud  roareil  the  dreadful  thunder  294 
Love  is  hke  the  wild  rose- briar. . . .   378 

Lullaby  !  0  lullaby   85 

Mamma  gave  us  a  single  peach ....  74 
Mamma,  had  ordered  Ann, the  maid  53 
Mamma  heard  me  with  scorn  and 

pride     57 

Mamma,  let's  go  and  see  the  lambs  7 
Maria  intended  a  letter  to  write . ,      82 

Mary  had  a  Uttle  bird 20 

Mary,  Mary,  quite  contrary 103 

Matilda,  come  hither,  I  pray  ....  40 
Matthew,  Mark,  Luke  and  John. .    108 

Maxwelton  braes  are  bonnie 346 

Men  of  England  !  who  inherit ....   265 

Merry,  merry  sparrow 168 

Merry  it  is  on  a  summer's  day. ...  45 
Methought  I  heard  a  butterfly. ...  206 
Mild  oflsiwing  of  a  dark  and  sullen 

sire        175 

Mine  be  a  cot  beside  a  hill 187 

Miss  Lucy  Wright,  though  not  so 

tall    67 

Miss   Lydia    Banks,    though   very 

young    78 

Miss  Rose,  do  let  me  lace  your  boot  58 
Miss  Sophy,  one  fine  sunny  day . .  59 
Mr.  East  gave  a  feast 97 


PAOB 

Monday's  child  is  fair  of  face ....  89 
Morning,  evening,  noon  and  night  382 
Mother,  may  I  go  and  bathe  ?  . . . .  103 
Mountain  gorses,  ever  golden  ....   174 

Multiplication  is  vexation 89 

My  banks  they  are  furnished  with 

bees      168 

My  boy,  be  cool,  do  things  by  rule  60 
My  dearest  baby,  go  to  sleep  ....  86 
My  fairest  child,  I  have  no  song  to 

give  you   365 

My  Fanny,  I  have  news  to  tell ....     78 

My  father  left  a  part  to  me 179 

My  father's  grandfather  lives  still  6 
My  good  blade  carves  the  casques 

of  men     341 

My  heart  leaps  up  when  I  behold . .  151 
j\Iy  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  my 

heart  is  not  here    279 

My  little  doves  have  left  a  nest  . .  224 
I\ly  love  he  built  me  a  bonnie  bower  338 
jNly  merry  little  fly,  play  here ....     20 

My  mind  to  me  a  kingdom  is 382 

My  mother  bore  me  in  the  southern 

wild 369 

My  neat  and  pretty  book    73 

My  noble,  lovely,  little  Peggy ....  350 
V  My  parents  bow,  and  lead  me  forth  361 

My  Peggy  is  a  young  tiling 360 

My  soul,  there  is  a  country 398 

Kear  yonder  copse,  where  once  the 

garden  smiled     199 

Nobly,  nobly  Cape  Saint  Vincent 

to  the  north-west  died  away  . . .  265 
None  ever  shared  the  social  feast . .  225 
No  stir  in  the  air,  uo  stir  in  the  sea  321 

Not  a  care  hath  Marien  Lee 363 

Not  a  drum  was  heard,  not  a  funeral 

note      271 

Not  a  flower  can  be  found  in  the 

fields     206 

Now  he  who  knows  old  Christmas  192 
Now,  if  I  fall,  will  it  be  my  lot  ? . .  160 
Now  in  her  green  mantle  blythe 

Nature  arrays 362 

Now,  Miss  Clara,  point  your  toe  . .  45 
Now,  ponder  well,  you  parents  dear  298 
Now  that  winter's  gone,  the  earth 

has  lost    154 

Now  the  bright  morning  star,  Day's 

harbinger     156 

Now  the  day  is  over 419 

Now  the  dreary  night  is  done ....  404 

Now  the  hungry  Uon  roars 118 

O  Blackbird,  sing  me  something 

well       224 

0  bUthe  new  comer  I  have  heard . .  227 


Index  of  First   Lines. 


441 


PAOB 

0  Brignall  banks  are  wild  and  fair  349 
Observe,  d^ar  George,  this  nut  so 

shall      40 

Observe  the  insect  race,  ordained 

to  keep     201 

0  Caledonia,  stern  and  wild 277 

O,  call  my  brother  back  to  nie ....  197 
0  Captain  !  my  captain  !  our  fearful 

trip  is  done      282 

O,  come  you  from  the  Indies,  and 

soldier,  can  you  tell  ?  283 

O  dear  !  what  can  the  matter  be  ?  102 
O  gentle,  gentle  summer  rain. , . .  156 
O  !  hear  a  pensive  prisoner's  prayer  216 
O,  Hesperus  !  thou  bringest  all  good 

things       140 

O  !  how  one  ugly  trick  has  spoil'd  51 
O  hush,  my  little  baby  brother. .. .  4 
O,  hush  thee,  my  baby  !  thy  sire 

was  a  knight   87 

Of  all  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw . .  363 
Of  all  the  ships  upon  the  bhie. . . .  237 
Of  Leinster  fam'd  for  maidens  fair  327 

Of  Nelson  and  the  North 273 

O  for  a  moon  to  light  me  home ....  395 
Oft  I  had  heard  of  Lucy  Gray  ....   336 

Oft  in  the  stilly  night 396 

Often  I  think  of  the  beautiful  town  367 
0  !   lady-bird,   lady-bird,  why  do 

you  roam  ?     203 

Old  creeping  time  with  silent  tread  365 
Old  King  Cole  was  a  merry  old  soul  90 
Old  Madam  Grumph  the  pig  has  got     18 

Old  Meg  she  was  a  gipsy    371 

Old  Mother  Duck  has  hatched  a 

brood    17 

Old  Mother  Goose 100 

Old  Mother  Hubbard    99 

"  Old  woman,  old  woman,  shall  we 

go  a  shearing  ?  "    100 

0  leave  this  barren  spot  to  me. ...   124 

0  hsten,  listen,  ladies  gay  ! 344 

O  lively,  0  most  charming  pug..      14 

0  !  look  at  the  moon 17 

"  O,  Mary  !  fie  to  teaze  your  dog  "  57 
O  ftlary  go  and  call  the  cattle  home  358 

Once  in  royal  David's  city    414 

Once  on  a  time  it  came  to  pass ....  120 
Once  upon  a  midnight  dreary  ....  374 
One  day.  Good-bye  met  How-d'- 

y'-do     135 

One  day.  Mamma  said,  "  Conrad, 

dear "       66 

One  day  the  letters  went  to  school  133 

On  either  side  the  river  lie 339 

One  morning — raw  it  was  and  wet  296 
One  old  Oxford  ox  opening  oysters     88 


PACK 

One  misty,  moisty  morning. ......     98 

One  time  I  knew  a  little  boy 66 

One,  two,  buckle  my  shoe 88 

On  his  morning  rounds,  the  master  213 
On  Linden,  when  the  sun  was  low  285 
Only  look  at  this  nosegay  of  pretty 

wild  fiowers     45 

On  Saturday  night  107 

On  the  banks  of  Allan  water 330 

On  the  cheerful  village  green  ....  41 
On  the  dark  hill's  western  side ....  421 
On  the  green  banks  of  Shannon 

when  Sheelah  was  nigh 276 

Onward,  Christian  soldiers 416 

Open    the    door,    some     pity    to 

show 321 

"  0,    piggy,    what    was    in    your 

trough  ? "     22 

Orpheus  with  his  lute  made  trees . .  179 
O   say  can  you  see  by  the  dawn's 

early  Ught 281 

0  say  what  is  that  thing  called 

Light? 43 

0  sing  imto  my  roundelay 398 

0  that  those  lips  had  language 385 

O  the  Broom,  the  yellow  Broom ...  178 
O  then,  I  see.  Queen  Mab  hath  been 

with  you 113 

O,  thou  Alphabetic  row 132 

O  !   to  be  in  England 265 

Our    bugles   sang   truce — for   the 

night  cloud  had  lowered 284 

Over  hill,  over  dale 110 

Over  the  mountain  and  over  the 

rock 49 

Over  the  water  and  over  the  sea . . .  107 
O  what  can  ail  thee,  Knight-at- 

arms  ? 346 

0  where  and  O  where  is  my  little 

wee  dog 105 

O  where  !   and  oh  where  !   is  your 

Highland  laddie  gone  ? 278 

0  !  where  do  you  come  from  ? . . . .  35 
0,  who  is  so  merry,  so  merry,  heigh 

ho 109 

0  !    who  would  keep  a  little  bird 

confined   222 

O  ye  !  who  so  lately  were  bhthe- 

some  and  gay 25 

O,  young  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of 

the  west 319 

Pack  clouds  away,  and  welcome 

day   384 

Pansies,  lilies,  kingcups,  daisies  . .  175 
"  Parrot,  if  I  had  your  wings  " . . . .  119 
Pat-a-cake,     pat-a-cake,      baker's 

man 79 


442 


Poems   for  Children. 


PAGE 

Peace   be   around   tbee   wherever 

thou  rovest 396 

Pease -pudding,  hot 97 

Peinmy  was  a  pretty  girl 102 

Peter  Piper  picked  a  peck  of  pickled 

pepper 136 

Piping  down  the  valleys  wild 366 

Pitj'  the  sorrows  of  a  poor  old  man .  42 
Pleasant  are  Thy  courts  above  . .  409 
Please  to   remember,  the  fifth  of 

November  . . .' 96 

Please  your  grace,  from  out  your 

store   113 

Polly,  put  the  kettle  on 101 

Poor  old  Robinson  Crusoe 90 

Poor  Peter  was  burnt  by  a  poker 

one  day 65 

Pretty  bee,  pray  tell  me  why 10 

Pretty  flowers,  tell  me  why 11 

Pretty  maid,  pretty  maid 102 

Proud  Masie  is  in  the  wood 359 

Pussy-cat  lives  in  the  servants'  hall  10 
Pussy-cat  Mole,  jumped  over  a  coal  96 
Pussy-cat,  pussy-cat,  where  have 

you  been  . . , 94 

Queen  and  huntress,  chaste  and  fair  352 

Receive  my  body,  pretty  bed 83 

Ride  a  cock-horse  to  Banbury  Cross  101 
Ring  out  wild  bells  to  the  wild  sky .   402 
Ring-ting  !   I  wish  I  were  a  prim- 
rose     172 

Rise  !  Sleep  no  more  !  'Tis  a  noble 

morn 184 

Robin  and  Richard  were  two  pretty 

men 106 

Robin  Hood,  Robin  Hood 106 

Roll  on,  roll  on,  you  restless  waves .      14 

Rosy  Martha  laughs  with  joy 52 

Rowley  Powley,  pudding  and  pie . .  105 
Sammy  Smith  would  drink  and  eat     62 

Sand,  sand,  hills  of  sand 377 

Saw  ye  never  in  the  meadows  ....  417 
Say  not  you  love  a  roasted  fowl ....  32 
Say,  weary  bird,  whose  level  flight. 232 
Say,  ye  that  know,  ye  who  have 

felt  and  seen 218 

Scots,  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled    . .   278 

Seated  one  day  at  the  organ 389 

See,  saw,  Margery  Daw 101 

Seest  thou  yon  woodland  child ....   170 

See  the  kitten  on  the  wall 211 

Seven  daughters  had  Lord  Archi- 
bald     33() 

Seventeen  rose-buds  in  a  ring 351 

Shed  no  tear,  0,  shed  no  tear Ill 

She  dwelt  among  the  untrodden 
ways » 353 


PACB 

She   stood   breast-high   amid   the 

corn 361 

Shepherds  all  and  maidens  fair. . . .    167 
She  walks  in  beauty,  Uke  the  night .    364 

She  was  a  phantom  of  delight 352 

Shun  delays,  they  breed  remorse. .   381 

Simple  Simon,  met  a  pieman 105 

Sing  a  song  of  sixpence 89 

Sing,  sing,  what  shall  I  sing 91 

Sing   sweet,   my   bird ;     oh,   sing 

I  pray 79 

Sir,  when  I  flew  to  seize  the  bird ...   214 
Sleep,  baby,  sleep  !    what  ails  my 

dear  ?    87 

Sleep,  little  brother,  you  must  not 

awaken 37 

Sleep,  sleep,  beauty  bright 85 

Slumber   my   darling,   no   danger 

is  near 85 

Smiling  river,  smiUng  river 393 

Sneel,  snaul,  robbers  are  coming  to 

pull  down  your  wall 95 

So  here  hath  been  dawning 380 

Solomon  Grundy 105 

Some  asked  me  where  the  rubies 

grew 365 

Sometimes  with  secure  deUght  ..  Ill 
Somewhat  back  from  the  village 

street 189 

Somewhere  it  is  always  hght 150 

Sophia  begged  her  sister,  Grace. . .     67 

Sound  the  flute 154 

Sound  the  loud  timbrel  o'er  Egypt's 

dark  sea 410 

Southward  with  fleet  of  ice 324 

Speak  gently  ! — It  is  better  far    . .       9 

Sporting  on  the  village  green 48 

Spring,   the  sweet  spring,  is  the 

year's  pleasant  king 153 

Spring,  where  are  you  tarrying  now  ?  152 
Stay,  lady,  stay  !  for  mercy's  sake  387 
Stay  near  me,   do  not  take  thy 

flight 206 

Storm  upon  the  mountain 21 

Suppose  the  httle  cowslip 7 

Swallow  1  that  on  rapid  wing ....  228 
Sweet  and  low,  sweet  and  low ....  84 
Sweet  Auburn  !  loveUest  village  of 

the   plain 194 

Sweet  dreams,  form  a  shade 85 

Sweet  country   life,   to  such  un- 
known     188 

Sweet  Emma  Moreland  in  yonder 

town  34r> 

Sweetest !  if  thy  fairy  hand 79 

Sweet  is  the  dew  that  falls  betimes  394 
Sweet  to  the  morning  traveller. . . .   261 


Index   of  First   Lines. 


443 


PAGE 

Taflfy  was  a  Welshman,  Taffy  was 

a  thief 105 

Tears,  idle  tears,  I  kn  w  not  what 

they  mean 399 

Tell  me  not  in  mournful  numbers . .  380 
Tell  me  not  of  joy  !  there's  none . . .  225 
"  Tell  nic,  would  you  rather  be  " . .  71 
Thank  you,  pretty  cow,  that  made.  9 
That  is  work  of  waste  and  ruin ....  195 
That  I  did  not  see  Frances  j  ust  now 

I  am  glad 58 

The  Assyrian  came  down  like  the 

wolf  on  the  fold 262 

The  babe  was  in  the  cradle  laid ....  67 
The  barber  shaved  the  mason  ....  104 
The  bark  that  held  a  prince  -went 

down 268 

The    bhnd    boy's    been    at   play, 

mother    44 

The  bluebell  is  the  sweetest  flower.  174 
The  boy  stood  on  the  burning  deck  272 
The  breaking  waves  dashed  high. .  280 
The  brown  owl  sits  in  the  ivy  bush.  17 
The  candles  are  lighted,  the  fire 

blazes  bright 34 

The    cat's    in    the    window,    and 

Shock's  at  the  door 40 

The  chough  and  crow  to  rest  are 

gone 348 

The  clock  is  on  the  stroke  of  six . . .   194 

The  cock  is  crowing 155 

The  cuckoo  is  a  fine  bird 93 

The    curfew    tolls    the    knell    of 

parting  day 399 

The   day   is   cold   and   dark   aaid 

dreary 149 

The  day  is  past,  the  sun  is  set 140 

The  days  are  cold,  the  niglits  are 

long 32 

The  deep  aflections  of  the  breast. .  232 
The  dew  was  falling  fast,  the  stars 

began  to  bhnk 12 

The  dog  will  come  when  he  is  called  39 
The  dusky  night  rides  down  the  sk\'  184 
The  fairest  action  of  our  human  life  262 
The  fiery  courser,  when  he  hears 

from  far 283 

The  Fox  jumped  up  on  a  moonlight 

night 95 

The  Frost  looked   fortli,  one  still 

clear  night  161 

The  glories  of  our  birtli  and  state. .  397 
The   glow-worm    with    his    horny 

wings 16 

The  God  of  nature  and  of  Graee . . .  406 
The  gorse  is  yellow  on  the  heath . .  228 
The  gowan  glitters  on  the  sward  . .   167 


PAGE 

The  hag  is  astride 116 

The  Hart  he  loves  the  high  wood. .  95 
The  hollow  winds  began  to  blow. .  148 
The  Humming-bird  !  the  Humming- 
bird ! 234 

The  hunting  tribes  of  air  and  eartli  283 
The  hunt  is  up,  the  hunt  is  up. . . .  185 
The  isles  of  Greece,   the  isles  of 

Greece 263 

The  Jackdaw  sat  on  the  Cardinal's 

chair    248 

The  King  sits  in  Dumfermline  Town  306 

The  king  was  on  his  throne 411 

The  lawns  were  dry  in  Euston  park  251 

The  linnet  in  the  rocky  dells 343 

The  Lion  and  the  Unicom 95 

The  little  boy  lost  in  the  lonely  fen .  369 
The  locust  ia  fierce  and  strong  and 

grim 209 

The   loud   wind  roared,  the  rain 

fell  fast 162 

Ttie  Lord  my  pasture  shall  prepare  408 
The  lute-voice  birds  rise  with  the 

light 212 

The   May   winds   gently   Uft    the 

willow  leaves 166 

The  melancholy  days  are  come,  the 

saddest  of  the  year 183 

The  minstrel- boy  to  the  war  is  gone  277 
The  month  was  June,  the  day  was 

hot 74 

The  moon  has  rowed  her  in  a  cloud .  370 
The  mountain  and  the  squirrel ....  123 
Then    fare    thee    well  !     my   dear 

loved  isle .' 293 

The  night  is  come  but  not  too  soon.  143 
The  Nominative  case  which  I  study's 

"A  Niece" 133 

The  noon  was  shady,  and  soft  ail's  .  213 

The  north  wind  doth  blow 7 

The  ordeal's  fatal  trumpet  soimded  286 

The  owl  to  her  mate  is  calling 180 

The  pine-apples  in  triple  row 125 

The  plain  was  grassy,  wild  and  bare  233 
The  poetry  of  earth  is  never  dead . .  204 
The  poplars  are  felled,  farewell  to 

the  shade 180 

The    post-boy   drove   with    fierce 

career   335 

The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strained  384 
The  raven  builds  hernestonhigh. .  418 
There  are  twelve  months  through- 
out the  year 157 

There  came  a  ghost  to  Margaret's 

door 334 

There  came  to  the  beach  a  poor 

exile  of  Erin ^.^.^.. 276 


444 


Poems   for  Children. 


PAGE 

There  is  a  flower,  a  little  flower ....  176 
There  is  a  fountain  in  the    forest 

called Ill 

There  is  a  green  hill  far  away 411 

There  is  a  happy  land 412 

There  is  in  the  wide  lone  sea 271 

There  is  ^dnd  where  the  rose  was . .  378 
There  lived  a  sage  in  days  of  yore . .  250 
There,  Robert,  you  have  kUled  that 

fly    56 

There's  a  Friend  for  little  children.  408 

There  sat  one  day  in  quiet 259 

There  was  a  crooked  man,  and  he 

went  a  crooked  mile 105 

There  was  a  jovial  beggar 240 

There  was  a  frog  lived  in  a  well  ...  95 
There  w£is  a  little  boy  and  a  little 

girl 107 

There  was  a  little  fellow  once 63 

There  was  a  little  hobby-horse. ...  22 
There  was  a  Mttle  maid,  and  she 

was  afraid 102 

There  was  a  little  man  and  he  had 

a  httle  gun 99 

There  was  a  little  man,   and  he 

woo'd  a  little  maid 100 

There  was  a  little  Rabbit  sprig  ....  91 
There  was  a  man  and  he  went  mad  lO") 
There  was  a  man  in  our  Toone   ....    104 

There  was  a  man  of  Newington 104 

There  was  a  monkey  climbed  up  a 

tree   89 

There  was  an  old  man  in  a  boat ....  258 
There  was  an  old  man  in  a  tree ....  258 
There  was  an  old  man  with  a  beard  258 
There  was  an  old  man  with  a  poker  258 
There  was  an  old  man  who  said 

"Hush!"    '. ..   258 

There  was  an  old  woman,  and  what 

do  you  think 98 

There  was  an  old  woman  as  I've 

heard  teU 100 

There   was   an   old   woman   lived 

under  a  hill 98 

There  was  an  old  woman  tossed  up 

in  a  basket  98 

There  was  an  old  woman  who  lived 

in  a  shoe 98 

There  was  a  round  pond,  and  a 

pretty  pond  too 22 

There  was  a  soimd  of  revelry  by 

night 274 

There  was  a  youth,  a  well- beloved 

youth 329 

There  was  one  little  Jim 55 

There  were  three  jovial  Welshmen .  237 
There  wet©  three  kings  into  the  East  250 


FA6B 

There  were  three  sailors  of  Bristol 

city    243 

There  were  two  friends,  a  charming 

pair 76 

There  were  two  blackbirds 91 

There  were  two  little  girls  neither 

handsome  nor  plain 68 

The  rich  man's  son  inherits  lands . ,   259 

The  rivers  rush  into  the  sea 393 

The    Rod    and    Wliip   had    some 

disputes   121 

The  rose  had  been  washed,  just 

washed  in  a  shower 173 

The  sad  and  solemn  Night 142 

The  sailor  sighs  as  sinks  his  native 

shore 292 

T.ie  sea  !  the  sea  !  the  open  sea. . .  289 
These  emmets,  how  little  they  are 

in  our  eyes 10 

The  shades  of  night  were  falling 

fast   3S1 

The  shepherd-boy  lies  on  the  hill  . .    140 

The  signal  to  engage  shall  be 270 

The  spacious  firmament  on  high . . .  406 
The    spearman    heard    the    bugle 

sound    325 

The  splendoitt  falls  on  castle  walls .  287 
The  squirrel  is  happy,  the  squirrel 

is  gay 219 

The  stately  homes  of  England 266 

The  stormy  March  is  come  at  last . .  154 
The  sun  descending  in  the  west. . . .   141 

The  sun  doth  arise 187 

The  sun  is  a  glorious  thing 16 

The  sun  is  careering  in  glory  and 

might    144 

The  sun  is  down,  and  time  gone  by  141 
The  sun  is  liidden  from  our  sight. . .  82 
The  swallows  at  the  close  of  day. . .  22^ 

The  trumpet  of  the  battle 264 

The  wall- trees  are  laden  with  fruit.  56 
The  warm  sun  is  failing,  the  bleak 

wind  is  wailing    157 

The  water  !  the  water  ! 145 

The  way  was  long,  the  wind  was 

cold   318 

The  wind  has  a  language,  I  would 

I  could  learn 159 

The  wind  one  morning  sprang  up 

from  sleep 159 

They  are  all  gone  into  the  world 

of  light 397 

The  year's  at  the  spring 139 

They  glide  upon  their  endless  way.    143 
They  grew  in  beauty  side  by  side . .    198 
They  met,  when  they  were  girl  and 
boy   ... . . ... ...  ^  ^. -.  361 


Index   of  First  Lines. 


44.'i 


PAGB 

They  say  that  God  lives  very  high .    407 

Thirty  days  hath  September 89 

This  England  never  did,  nor  never 

shall 263 

This  fable  is  a  very  short  one  ....  121 
This  is  the  house  that  Jack  built. .    106 

This  little  pig  went  to  market 91 

This  is  Mab,  the  mistress  Fairy ....  112 
This  palace  standeth  in  the  air. . . .  115 
This  rose-tree  is  not  made  to  bear . .  34 
This  royal  throne  of    kings,   this 

sceptred  isle 263 

Those  evening  bells,  those  evening 

bells 396 

Thou  art,   0   Lord,   the  life  and 

light 410 

Thou  blossom  bright  with  autumn 

dew   177 

Thou  liast  burst  from  thy  prison  . .   205 

Thou  that  hast  a  daughter 2!>1 

Thou  wast  a  bauble  once  ;    a  cup 

and  ball 182 

Thou  wert  out  betimes,  thou  busy, 

busy  bee 207 

Though   clock  to   tell  how  night 

draws  hence 189 

Three  fishers  went  sailing  away  to 

the  %\'est 3  6 

Three  wise  men  of  Gotham 104 

Three  years  she  grew  in  sun  and 

shower    361 

Through  the  house  give  gUmmering 

light 110 

Through  the  house  what  busy  joy . .       (i 

Tiger,  tiger,  burning  bright 220 

Time  was  when  I  was  free  as  air  .  . .  234 
Tinkle,    tinkle,    tinkle :     'tis    the 

mufiin-maJi  you  see 44 

'Tis  a  lesson  you  should  heed 3(5 

'Tis  a  sad  sight 191 

'Tis  June — the  merry  smiling  June  15(5 

'Tis  sweet  to  hear 188 

'Tis  sweet  to  hear  the  merry  lark . .   222 

'Tis  the  last  rose  of  summer 396 

'Tis  the  voice  of  a  sluggard  ;    I 

heard  him  complain 35 

Toll  for  the  brave 272 

To  grass,  or  leaf,  or  fruit,  or  wall. .  203 
To  market,  to  market  to  buy  a 

fat  pig 96 

To  mercy,  pity,  peace  and  love ....   389 

Tom  he  was  the  Piper's  son 104 

To-morrow,    and   to-morrow,    and 

to-morrow    397 

To  sea  !  to  sea  !  the  calm  is  o'er . . .   289 

Tom,  Tom  the  Piper's  son     104 

Tread  lightly  here,  tor  here, "  tis  said  229 


PAOS 

Triumphal  arch,  that  fill'st  the  sky  150 
Turn,  gentle  Hermit  of  the  dale. . .  327 
Turn,  turn  thy  hasty  foot  aside ....  203 
'Twas  in  the  prime  of  summer  time  332 
'Twas  on  a  Holy  Thursday,  their 

innocent  faces  clean 378 

'Twas  on  a  lofty  vase's  side    , 239 

'T\\  as  once  upon  a  time 90 

'Twas  on  the  shores  that  round 

our  coast 240 

'Twas  whispered  in  Heaven,  'twas 

muttered  in  Hell 132 

Tweedle-Dum  and  Tweedle-Dee. . .    103 

Twinkle,  twinkle,  Uttle  star 7 

Two    children   in   two   neighbour 

villages  379 

Two  good  Httle  ladies,  named  Mary 

and  Ann   71 

Two  Robin  Redbreasts  built  their 

nest 11 

Under  a  spreading  chestnut  tree . .   200 

Underneath  a  huge  oak  tree 123 

Under  the  greenwood  tree 166 

Up  in  the  morning's  no  for  me  ....   151 

Upon  a  time  a  neighing  steed 127 

Up  !    quit  thy  bower,  late  wears 

the  hour 139 

Up  the  airy  mountain 109 

Up,  Timothy,  up  with  your  staff 

and  away 196 

Up  !  up  !  let  us  a  voyage  take ....  290 
Up,  up  !  ye  dames  and  lasses  gay . .    185 

Very  high  in  the  pine-tree 14 

Vital  spark  of  heavenly  flame 418 

Voice  of  summer,  keen  and  shrill . .   205 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  g  y 184 

Wanton  droll,  whose  harmless  play  210 

We  are  little  airy  creatures 1 32 

Wearied  arm  and  broken  sword . . .   280 

Web-spinner  was  a  miser  old 208 

Wee ;     modest,    crimson-tipped 

flower   , 176 

j^  Wee  Willie  Winkle 370 

We  had  a  pleasant  walk  to-day. ...    155 

Welcome,  maids  of  honour 171 

Welcome,  pale  primrose  !   starting 

up  between 172 

Welcome,  wild  north-easter 159 

We    watch    for    the    light   of   the 

morn  to  break 207 

What  are  little  boys  made  of  ? . .  . .  101 
What  a  sharp  little  fellow  is  Mister 

Fly 207 

What  can  James  and  George  be 

doing  ■' 46 

"  What,  Charles  returned  !  "   Papa 

c.\(:iainied 76 


446 


Poems  for  Children. 


PAr;F, 
Whaever  brawls  disturb  the  street  32 
What  gossips  prattled  in  the  sun . .  252 
What  way  does  the  wind  come  ? 

What  way  does  he  go  ? 32 

When,  as  the  garish  day  is  done .. .  156 
When   a  twister    a    twisting   wiU 

twist  him  a  twist    136 

When  banners  are  waving 282 

\Vhen   Britain   first   at   Heaven's 

command 267 

When  captains  courageous  whom 

death  could  not  daunt 317 

When   cats  run  home   and  light 

is  come 230 

When  daffodils  begin  to  peer 371 

Whene'er  I  fragrant  coffee  drink. .  178 
Whene'er  I  take  my  walks  abroad .  31 
When  fr  edom  from  her  mountain 

height 282 

When  Frenchmen  saw,  with  coward 

art 273 

When  good  King  Arthur  ruled  this 

land 89 

When  icicles  hang  by  the  wall  ....  158 
When  I  kneel  down  my  prayers 

to  say 405 

When  maidens  such  as  Hester  die. .  357 
When  my  mother  died  I  was  very 

young  368 

When  red  hath  set  the  beamless  sun  1 68 
When  Sarah's  papa  was  from  home 

a  great  way 44 

When  that  I  was  and  a  little  tiny 

boy    372 

When  the  British  warrior  queen . . .  268 
When  the  green  woods  laugh  with 

the  voice  of  joy 368 

When  the  sheep  are  in  the  fauld . . .  344 
When  the  voices  of  children  are 

heard  on  the  green 370 

When   William   asked,   how   veal 

was  made 15 

Where  are  you  going,  my  pretty 

maid  101 

Where  is  the  true  man's  fatherland  260 
Where  sacred  Ganges  pours  along 

the  plain 162 

Where  shall  the  lover  rest 331 

Where  southern  suns  and  winds 

prevail 210 

W  ere  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I . .  206 
Where  the  pools  are  bright  and  deep  166 
Where  the  remote  Bermudes  ride . .  296 
Where  the  Thracian  channel  roars  162 


PAGE 
Which  way  does  the  wind  blow  ? . .  160 
While    shepherds    watched    their 

flocks  by  night 413 

While  the  blue  is  richest 118 

Whither,  'midst  falling  dew 235 

Who  comes  here  ? 103 

Who  fed  me  from  her  gentle  breast       5 

Who  is  Sylvia  ?  what  is  she  ? 352 

Who  killed  Cock  Robin  ? 94 

Who  would  true  valour  see 388 

Why  is  Pussy  in  bed  ? 94 

W^hy  not  open  your  eyes 59 

Why    should    my    darhng    quake 

with  fear 39 

"  Why  so  I  will,  you  noisy  bird  "  . .  73 
Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide,  ladie ....   337 

W^ill  ye  buy  any  tape  ? 372 

Will  you  take  a  walk  with  me  ....  20 
Will  you  walk  into  my  parlour,  said 

the  Spider  to  the  Fly  . , 26 

With  blackest  moss  the  flower- plots  363 
With  blue-cold  nose  and  wrinkled 

brow 162 

Within  a  thick  and  spreading  haw- 
thorn bush 234 

W^ithin  her  gilded  cage  confined. . .  232 
Within  the  churchyard  side  by  side  418 
Within  the  preci.icta  of  this  yard . .  47 
With  sweetest  milk  and  sugar  first.  220 
With  the  apples  and  the  plums . . . .     69 

Yaup,  yaup,  yaup  ! „ ...     19 

Ye  coax  the  timid  verdure    ... ...  «.   153 

Ye  gentlemen  of  England 266 

Ye  have  been  fresh  and  green  ....  169 
Ye  field  flowers,  the  gardens  eclipse 

you,  'tis  true 173 

Ye  mariners  of  England 267 

Ye  say  they  all  have  passed  away . .  281 
You  are  old.  Father  William,  the 

young  man  cried 322 

You    know,    we   French   stormed 

Ritisbon 286 

Y  u  must  wake  and  call  me  early, 

call  me  early,  mother  dear 354 

Young  Henry  was  as  brave  a  youth  365 
Young  Jem  at  noon  return'd  from 

school M  .<. ...     61 

Young  lambs  to  sell 96 

Young  Paddy  la  merry  and  happy, 

but  poor 49 

Young   Romilly   through   Barden 

Woods 316 

You  spotted  snakes  with  double 

tongues 114 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

EDUCATION  -  PSYCHOLOGY 
LIBRARY 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

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SEP  2  6  1994 


JUN  18  1974 
JUN    7  REC'D  -3  PIV 


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MAR  0  2  1991 


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ED-P 


LD  21A-15m-4,'63- 
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General  Library 

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